Hermione Granger and the Judgment Potion
by QuirksnQuills
Summary: A/U after HBP. Voldemort killed Harry and won the war. All of the young, fertile Muggle-borns are being rounded up and sold off to purebloods. Draco buys Hermione and it could be love - but will Snape get in the way? Lemons galore. Slight OOC. D/Hr, SS/Hr
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Greetings, all! I originally started this story in 2008 in one feverishly inspired weekend, then I ran out of steam. Then my laptop died. Then I had a little girl in September 2009, and had no time to write, even though I had lots of ideas. It makes me happy that over two years after I started, people are still adding my little dead end to their favourite story lists and I still get the odd review. I've been having the itch again, so I decided to revive this story as a way of thanking everybody who read, reviewed, favourited, and enjoyed. I'm starting by cleaning up the old chapters, changing minor details here and there. New chapters coming soon! I can't promise how fast or how often, since life with a toddler is hectic and I also work full-time, but I will update as often as I can.

"YOU ARE ALL...MY CHILDREN." - William Murderface

Disclaimer: This fiction is intended for mature audiences only. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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**"Whenever I hear anyone arguing for slavery, I feel a strong impulse to see it tried on him personally." - Abraham Lincoln**

**Chapter 1 - The Market**

Draco Malfoy wandered among the cages in the Muggle Market, his heels squelching in the fetid muck that caked the aisles. The reek of death was everywhere - it was all he could do not to retch. Masquerading as a supporter of Lord Voldemort sometimes had its perks, especially now that the war was over and Potter was dead, but the Market was nearly too disgusting for Draco to stand. After Professor Snape rescued him from his unbreakable stalemate with Dumbledore atop the Astronomy tower, they had gone to Voldemort's side to tell of Dumbledore's death. The Dark Lord was seriously annoyed by Draco's failure, but the demise of his great enemy at the hands of Severus Snape was an acceptable alternative, and so he had let Draco live - but not without employing the Cruciatus at length to show his displeasure in his faithless servant. Even now, Draco limped slightly as he moved about the Market, eager to be gone. On his seventeenth birthday, Lucius had given Draco a gift of thirty thousand Galleons, to be used to purchase a mudblood of his very own. He had held onto the money for a year and three months now, revolted by the idea, but the Dark Lord grew impatient and suspicious. Draco lied often, saying he was just waiting for the right one, but to this point he simply hadn't been able to purchase his own...slave. House elves were one thing, they were happy to serve, but another human being?

Draco had had his own experiences with doing unspeakable acts against one's will, and he did not relish the idea of dragging some poor Muggle-born witch home to rape her. He had eschewed all company and friendly advice from his father and others, listening only to Snape, whose advice had been limited to two unhelpful words: choose wisely._ Choose wisely? _Draco thought despairingly. _How can I choose a wife who doesn't love me in a single afternoon?_

_Think of it as an arranged marriage_. Snape's voice echoed in his head. The thought actually cheered Draco slightly - had the war not ended the way it did, he likely would have wound up married to Pansy Parkinson. A shudder ran up his spine at the thought.

Constructed in the aftermath of the successful ambush and murder of Harry Potter a year ago last July, the Muggle Market was the end result of the Dark Lord's relentless attempts to eradicate Muggle-borns once and for all. The Dark Lord, along with Lucius Malfoy, had come up with a sinister plan after hearing of a story in the Daily Prophet some months ago, about the rising number of Squib births attributed to pureblood inbreeding. The new genes that Muggle-borns brought to the pool could not be ignored in light of the latest reports in the Prophet, as even half-bloods did not have enough new genetic material to keep inbreeding at bay for long. Surely selling off the young, fertile Muggle-borns to rich, pureblooded families as spouses for their eligible children (or as consorts to the lord or lady of the manor) would be a profitable venture, and ensure that the mudbloods were kept under a watchful eye. Unfortunately, taking care of the Muggle-borns in question wasn't the Dark Lord's top priority. He fed them barely enough to keep them alive, packed together in filthy cages. The magic in their blood, along with Muggle vaccines, was enough to keep serious illness among them to a minimum, but gastrointestinal viruses and influenza ran rampant on a regular basis. From what Draco had seen, conditions at some manors weren't any better for the ones who were "lucky" enough to be purchased.

"Malfoy!" A hoarse cry snatched Draco's attention from his morose thoughts. There, just ahead of him and to the left, a long brown arm was waving frantically from between the bars of a cage. Dean Thomas stood there in ragged, filthy Muggle clothes, looking as though he'd lost about twenty pounds in a very short span of time. His eyes had sunken slightly into his head, and a croupy cough rattled harshly in his chest. Draco could clearly see Dean's collarbone jutting from the bedraggled collar of his shirt.

"Thomas!" Draco sidestepped a suspicious-looking puddle and approached his former enemy.

"It's good to see a familiar face, in a horrible kind of way," Dean laughed. Evidently imprisonment hadn't diminished the Muggle-born man's spirit. "I've been purchased, you know. Parkinson came round with her parents about an hour ago. I'm just waiting for the paperwork to go through."

"My sincere condolences," Draco said genuinely. Dean laughed again.

"I have to tell you, mate, even Parkinson looks better than this place right now, especially if I get to have a hot shower and a meal first."

"You're remarkably resigned to your fate," a familiar voice piped up from the corner. Draco shifted his gaze to a mass of rags and tangled curls that lay huddled in the corner nearest Dean's feet. A sick sense of shock flooded Draco's stomach. _No. No, it can't be...they couldn't find her, after...I thought she got away..._

"No sense in fighting it, Hermione," Dean said in an undertone. "Getting out of here is the next best thing to getting free."

"Pansy won't be cruel to him, Granger. Trust me, I have some idea of what she has in store for him," Draco sniggered. The pretty Muggle-born witch scoffed viciously at this. "You're in for a treat, Thomas, though I'll warn you now: she's kinky."

"Pig," Hermione muttered under her breath. Draco could see that she was desperately thin, and her alabaster skin was liberally daubed with filth, but her brown eyes still glittered dangerously over sunken cheeks. Suddenly, an idea occurred to him.

"Flint!" Draco bellowed to his former classmate and Quidditch captain, a newly-minted Market guard. "I'll take Granger!" Marcus lumbered over, his stupid, snaggletoothed monkey face creased into a lecherous smile. Draco handed him a large, heavy money bag.

"Noice choice, Malfoy," Flint leered in his thick Cockney accent. "I'll avise th' 'ead guard t'get the pay-perwerk star'ed."

_"No!" _Hermione shrieked, pounding her fists soundlessly against the packed dirt floor of the cage. "No! I'll _never!"_

Draco was hurt, but he vowed not to let it show. After all, he could hardly expect her to be overjoyed at the idea. He was certain she imagined all sorts of gruesome tortures awaited her at his hands, and he could scarcely blame her, as incorrect as her assumptions were. She didn't know him well enough to know better, to know how he'd cried in the bathroom all that last school year...and he'd always been particularly cruel to her. A familiar wave of regret washed over Draco - he'd felt it often ever since the Dark Lord had first demanded that he kill Dumbledore or die in the attempt. Believing his death to be near at hand, Draco had had plenty of time to relive his years at Hogwarts and all of the mistakes he'd made. Perhaps now, he could rescue her and right one of his wrongs, however small in the grand scheme. Granger was still squalling like a wet cat in the corner of the cage, despite Thomas' attempts to calm her.

"Listen, Granger," Draco muttered, crouching swiftly next to the corner where she was huddled. The stench was worse closer to the floor. "You're coming home with me, like it or not. I can offer you a warm bed and meals that would put the Hogwarts elves to shame, and a library full of books, if not eternal bliss and happiness. I have no intention of harming you." To his surprise, Hermione quieted at his words, but remained watchful behind the tangled, matted curls that obscured her face. Before she could respond, Flint came trundling back with a set of large iron keys on a ring. He selected one from the bunch and unlocked the cage.

"Granger, go along wi' Malfoy. Thomas, follow me." Flint turned on his heel and returned the way he had come. Dean and Hermione embraced briefly and wished each other luck - and then he was gone.

"Shall we?" Draco offered his arm to Hermione for Side-Along Apparition. She took it reluctantly, glowering all the while. They turned on the spot and disappeared into the compressing darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Updated A/N: Significant changes to Hermione's characterization here. This was bugging me for a long time. Substantial changes ahead for Chapter 3 as well.  
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**Chapter 2 – Definite Advantages**

They emerged from the suffocating blackness of Apparition with a _pop_ in the foyer of Malfoy Manor. "Welcome home," Draco said ironically. Hermione growled and jerked her arm from his clutches. He chuckled under his breath. Since she was obviously going to be difficult no matter how hard he tried to soothe her, he might as well have his fun while he could. He reasoned that it might make things easier for Hermione if they fell into their usual pattern of behaviour. _Safer, too, at least where we can be observed._

"Now, now, Granger," he purred. "If you continue to behave like that, I'll be sure to find a suitable punishment for you, so mind you keep a civil tongue in your head." Draco smirked meaningfully, and Hermione blanched. He had to give the Gryffindor princess credit – she lived up to her reputation for bravery, but she wasn't stupid. Gryffindor could play the game, all right, but it was Slytherin making the rules just now.

"You just realized there's nobody to run crying to if I make good on my threats, didn't you?" Draco sneered, getting fully into the façade. "That's right, mudblood. You can scream all you want; Saint Potter isn't coming for you this time."

"Fuck you, Malfoy!" Hermione shrieked. Her hands were balled into little white fists at her sides, and her chest was heaving dangerously. He had pushed her past her limit. She opened her mouth to say more, but Draco's wordless silencing spell hit her before she could make a sound. Her soundless howl of rage was the most entertaining thing he had seen in a week. She flung herself at him and attempted to slap him, a move he easily blocked, grabbing her wrist.

"Granger, Granger, Granger." Draco shook his head theatrically, fetching a deep sigh. He twisted her arm behind her back, pulling her near him, and placed his lips next to the shell of her ear. "You forget: _I_ have a wand. _You_ don't. That's not going to change. Unless you fancy spending the rest of your life under a magical gag order, I suggest you shut your mouth." A predatory smile crossed his lips. "You're cute when you're angry."

"Ah, Draco, you've arrived at last! Your father sent word you'd be coming home with…" Narcissa's voice trailed off as she rounded the corner and Hermione Granger came into view. For a moment, the statuesque, imposing blonde resembled the grubby, bedraggled young woman; both had the same sick, open-mouthed look of anger on their faces. "Really, Draco, you do have an odd sense of humour," his mother said at last. He grinned.

"Look at it this way, Mother – at least we get to skip that awkward 'getting to know you' stage."

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Fifteen minutes later, Hermione was immersed in a cloud of scented foam in the huge, claw-footed porcelain tub in her own private bathroom. She had expected to be locked up in the dungeons beneath the manor, but Draco had sent her upstairs with a house elf to her rather luxurious third-floor quarters. The elf had taken Hermione's measurements, drawn a bath and Disapparated with a _crack!_

The large bedroom looked out over the back garden, which sloped pleasantly down to a small creek along the back of the property. Across the creek lay a thick wood, just beginning to turn shades of yellow and crimson and gold. As the sun went down, Hermione could see fish jumping in the creek, trying to catch the first evening bugs. It was undeniably pretty here. The bathroom featured a large picture window behind the bathtub, and the last of the sun's rays sliced into the water, warming her as she floated in the womblike calm.

_Might as well enjoy the calm while it lasts, _she thought. Malfoy seemed as much a prick as ever. At first she thought she was going to have to share his bed immediately, but then realized that the bedroom was meant for her alone, in spite of the king-size bed. The place reminded Hermione greatly of the Gryffindor common room; there were two large, overstuffed wing chairs near the fireplace, a chessboard between them. The entire wall around the fireplace was lined with huge, leather-bound books – everything from _Arban's Thaumaturgica_ to a battered copy of what looked suspiciously like the _Necronomicon_. The bed, its hangings, and the upholstered chairs were all a deep blood red, bordered in gold. It seemed highly unlikely that any room in Malfoy Manor should be decorated in Gryffindor colours, and she wondered whether it had been Transfigured for her benefit. The palatial bathroom attached to the bedroom was tiled in black marble with white porcelain fixtures, and a quick survey of the cabinet had yielded everything a young witch could possibly require to preen herself. Good thing, too, since she was going to be married in the morning - married to her mortal enemy. Hermione sighed and reached for the shampoo.

_I bet I'll spend most of my time in my room. At least they don't want me to be some sort of servant – they've got plenty of those, _Hermione thought. She shuddered at the thought of having to take orders from Lucius Malfoy, remembering how he'd treated Dobby. Hermione's new personal body servant, Smidgen, seemed to like it well enough here; from the little she had seen, neither Draco nor Narcissa had treated the little elf badly. She was currently digging up something for Hermione to wear. _As much as I hate to admit it,_ _life as the wife of a prestigious pureblood heir might have its advantages. _She felt sick at the thought, considering that Harry was mouldering in the ground, and the Weasleys locked up with the other "blood traitor" families in Azkaban. Still, perhaps Malfoy was right – perhaps she should shut her mouth. This could be her golden opportunity - the chance to hide out in relative luxury while figuring out a way to finish the work Harry started. She would find a way. Perhaps she could use some of Draco's Slytherin resourcefulness to her advantage.

She giggled, coming slightly unglued from the weirdness of it all. _I guess I'll have some pureblood in me after all. _That wasn't so bad either, when one came right down to it. _Malfoy's a prick, but if those rumors I heard are anywhere _near_ the truth... _Wishing to distract herself from that train of thought entirely, Hermione hastily rinsed her hair and stepped from the bath. She reached for a towel from the stack next to the tub and wrapped herself in oversized, fluffy, white warmth. She padded into the bedroom, wrapping her dripping curls in another towel as she went.

Draped over the back of one of the chairs was a set of fine, midnight blue robes, lined in ice blue silk. Embroidered silver moons and stars danced along the hemline and the cuff of each sleeve. The robes were something she would have expected to see in the pages of Witch Weekly, or maybe in those private dressing rooms Madam Malkin kept for her more privileged customers. A delicate silk slip and knickers set lay folded on the seat, awaiting her. After squeezing the water from her hair, Hermione dropped both towels into the laundry hamper in the corner and slipped the silk underwear over her skin. It felt like cool water transfigured into clothing – the single most luxurious thing she had ever worn in her life - and it was only underwear! She thought of the cages in the Muggle Market and felt slightly nauseous wondering how Dean was faring, not to mention the other Muggle-born witches and wizards in captivity.

Hermione dressed slowly in the robes and walked reluctantly to the mirror. The neckline was a becoming cowl style that dropped just shy of revealing cleavage, and the cool tone of the fabric set off her porcelain skin nicely. Since she had no wand to charm her hair, she picked up a large, wide-toothed comb from the vanity in front of the mirror and began detangling the rapidly drying curls. Once she had finished, she opened the little chest on the vanity to find something to hold her hair back with…and promptly dropped the comb to the floor with a clatter.

Inside the chest was a blue topaz the size of a Galleon, set in intricate white gold filigree and hung from a sturdy-looking chain. It was flanked with delicate drop earrings to match. Perched in the middle of all this was a folded piece of parchment. Trembling, she plucked it from the chest and unfolded it gingerly, as though it might explode.

_I will give you your ring after dinner, but for now, please accept this as an engagement gift. I'm sure you will find it suitable for your new robes. We dine promptly at eight o'clock._

_Draco_


	3. Chapter 3

A/N - Significant changes have been made to Draco and Hermione's interactions here. It's a little more adversarial than the original. I've been wanting to correct this for some time, and I'm much happier with the story now; Hermione's more true-to-form, which will make their later exchanges much more meaningful. - QnQ_  
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**If you want to make beautiful music, you must play the black and the white notes together.**** - ****Richard M. Nixon**

**Chapter 3 – Dinner Music**

At precisely 7:50 pm, Smidgen escorted a thoroughly rattled Hermione down to the family dining room, which was a small alcove off the kitchen. The table glittered impressively with silverware and china, but Hermione noticed that only two places were laid.

"Smidgen, why are there only two place settings?" She asked the tiny house elf.

"Master and Mistress Malfoy is gone out, miss," Smidgen replied in her squeaky voice. She did not volunteer any further information, and Hermione knew better than to ask. Truth be told, she did not really want to know where the elder Malfoys were. She chose a seat at the table, and her glass automatically filled with chilled white wine. Upon trying it, she found that the wine was a fruity sauvignon blanc, and very strong - after a few sips, she could feel her thighs growing warm under the table.

Draco entered the room a moment later. His fine platinum hair, which he normally slicked back, was freshly washed and loosely finger-styled. He had doffed the stark, utilitarian black robes he'd worn to the Muggle Market in favour of soft, moss green ones with bronze lining. He had grown since his days as the amazing bouncing ferret, and filled out some too: Draco now stood a good eight inches taller than Hermione's own 5'4", and was lean and powerfully lithe. He used his moment of surprise to approach the table with catlike grace, deftly snatching her hand from her lap and kissing the backs of her fingers. Hermione snatched her hand back, watching him with suspicion. This was _Malfoy_, the same Malfoy who had broken Harry's nose last September on the Hogwarts Express, the same Malfoy who had nearly killed Katie Bell with a cursed necklace…the same Malfoy who tried to kill Dumbledore. She had seen him with sneering confidence; she'd seen him scared; she'd seen him very angry; she had _never_ had the full force of his Slytherin charm turned on her. In spite of her suspicion, she found herself wishing she could fall for his overtures. He seemed the type of bloke who would do romance right. _This is Malfoy, _she scolded herself. _ Malfoy. The very name means "bad faith". Don't fall for this!_

"Still so frigid, Granger," he tutted, and the old Malfoy poked through a little, though there was no bite to his remark. He took the chair to her right, grinning at her. "And after I gave you such a beautiful gift, too." He shook his head.

She scowled at him. "Let's just get this meal over with, shall we?"

Draco sighed through his nose, scrubbing his palms over his eyes. He suddenly looked very tired. "Look, Hermione, I know you don't want to be here. And I know you hate me. You have good reason to. But I've learned a few things, and when I saw you there in that cage…I thought maybe…" He shrugged and glanced shyly at her through his downcast eyelashes. "I'm not the same person I was a year ago. I'm not even the same person I was six months ago, Hermione. I know you have no reason to believe me, but it is so."

Hermione felt a little jolt go through her. He had just used her first name out loud. Twice. She couldn't remember a time he'd ever done that. She kept expecting someone to jump out from behind a corner and tell her she was on one of those Muggle hidden camera programmes on the telly. This was the same Draco Malfoy who had taunted and teased her all those years at Hogwarts, she reminded herself for the millionth time. How could he have become someone so different from the bastard she'd known, in the fifteen months since she's last seen him? Clearly, she was missing something important. Finding her voice again, Hermione said, "Prove it." She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms haughtily over her chest, daring him with her fiery eyes.

"Well, for one thing, I'm rather out of the Dark Lord's favour at the moment, having failed at the task he set me."

"Killing Dumbledore, you mean," Hermione elucidated. Draco winced.

"Yes, Granger, that _is_ what I meant," he snapped. He closed his eyes briefly and pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated with himself. "I'm sorry. It's just that everything I've been taught is true my whole life turned out to be a great big lie, and I only just figured it out last year. It still smarts a bit." Hermione had to admit that this made sense. "Anyway, now that I've got both a Dark Mark and a reason to hate the Dark Lord almost as much as you do, I'm in a rather precarious position." Draco paused and pointed his wand at her empty glass, which immediately refilled.

"Indeed," Hermione agreed, watching the wine materialize in her glass. Draco was obviously more talented at Charms than she had previously believed.

They were interrupted when a house elf that Hermione did not recognize swung through the bat-wing doors to the kitchen with a huge tureen of bouillabaisse. "Ah, excellent, here's dinner. Thank you, Ponky." Hermione gaped. _Draco Malfoy just thanked a house elf. I'll be damned._ Ponky bowed and Disapparated, and Draco continued his previous thought. "Snape and I –"

"_Snape?"_ Hermione interrupted. "You're working with _Snape?_"

Draco held up his hands in a gesture meant to placate the witch in front of him. The wine had brought a pretty flush to her cheeks, and her hair was quite fetching, curling loosely down her back like that. Her eyes had flashed darkly at the mention of Snape's name, and something in Draco's stomach swooped like a drunken bat. She continued to glare at him. "That _murderer_?"

"He's not a murderer, Granger. He saved my life, you know, more than once." Draco took a deep breath…and told her everything. Clearly Potter had filled her in on his side of things, but Draco was determined to give her his side of it, too. Her eyes grew wider and wider as she listened to him, her plate of bouillabaisse going cold in front of her. Draco spilled out the whole story about Snape and Voldemort and his mother and that stupid necklace and all the rest of it, and to her credit she did not interrupt him once, though her mind was brimming with questions.

"Snape and I went looking for the remaining Horcruxes. Potter was one, we realize now, and the Dark Lord didn't know it or he likely wouldn't have killed him. We knew that Dumbledore destroyed the ring, and Potter destroyed the diary in second year, but we didn't know how many Horcruxes there were or where to find them. It took a fair bit of doing, but Snape managed to use his skill as a Legilimens to find out where the others were and we destroyed them together. Now, all that remains is to kill the Dark Lord himself, but it won't be easy. He's under heavy guard all the time." Draco paused for a bite of the rich, savoury stew, and Hermione sampled hers as well. It was fabulous. "Snape and my parents are secretly on our side, of course, after everything that's happened, but for right now we have to play the faithful servants. Where the Dark Lord is concerned, you can't be careful enough."

"Have you got a plan?" Hermione asked, toying with her spoon.

"That's where you come in," Draco said. "I owled Snape today – he was most pleased to hear who I'd chosen as my new wife. He thinks you might be able to help us."

"How can I help?" She wondered skeptically.

"You're brilliant," Draco replied flatly. "How could you not help? You saw how the Order worked. It's defunct, now, without Dumbledore and with the Weasleys in prison. Everyone else is either in hiding, or too scared to help us now, and the Ministry is under the Dark Lord's control."

Hermione considered Draco's words carefully, her brown eyes locking with his steely grey gaze. She felt an awful lot of things at once: gratitude that Lucius Malfoy and his wife had seen the error of their ways; relief for the good, logical explanation for Snape's behaviour, and that she hadn't been stupid enough to trust a traitor after all; a sense of wonder at the markedly changed young man sitting across from her; and most of all, a sense of hope bloomed in her heart. There was also an unfamiliar feeling in the pit of her stomach – like butterflies, only more pleasant. It was nearly impossible to eat under these conditions, so she put her spoon down.

Draco frowned. "Is there something wrong with your food?"

"Oh, no! Nothing!" Hermione assured him. "You'd think I would be ravenous, and I love bouillabaisse –"

"I remember," Draco interrupted. "I overheard you telling Potter and Weasley about it at the beginning of fourth year."

She paused, her earlier thought forgotten. "You were watching me?"

A familiar smirk played across his aristocratic features, but he did not answer her. Instead, Draco stood abruptly. "Well, if you're not going to eat, perhaps you'll step into the drawing room with me."

"You actually have a drawing room?"

Draco shrugged. "One of the perks of the idle rich. Come!" He led her through the manor to the front of the house, where a baby grand piano sat to one side of a roaring fireplace. Hermione was immediately drawn to it.

"Do you play?" Draco inquired, sitting next to her on the bench. She reached out one dainty finger and pressed down middle C gently.

"No. I'm rubbish at music," she complained. "Do you?"

"My mother taught me a little. She was something of a prodigy as a child. I have only a passing talent for it, but I've memorized a few nice pieces." He laid his broad hands over the keys and began playing a tinkling melody, something Hermione did not recognize.

"That's lovely," Hermione said appreciatively. She closed her eyes and let the melody wind its way into her consciousness. It was mournful and sweet at the same time, and deceptively simple. It raised gooseflesh on her arms, and a pleasant shiver ran down her spine. When the final note quavered into silence, she opened her eyes to find Draco watching her with an unreadable expression.

"It's a mazurka," he said softly. "My mother wrote it. It's about the best in my repertoire, but she's written a lot more difficult pieces than that. I'm sure she'll play for you if you ask her. In the meantime, I should get my guitar; I'm much better at that."

Hermione threw her head back and laughed. He was winning her over, in spite of her. "You know, I think I'm beginning to understand what you mean about finding out everything you thought you knew was a lie. You're not who I thought you were, Draco Malfoy."

He smiled, a real smile this time, and it completely changed his face. She could see the echoes of the little boy she remembered, just for a moment, but it was the look of delight she remembered from Flitwick's class when they would learn a new and particularly miraculous charm, not a sneer. "I'm not who _I_ thought I was, either," he chuckled honestly. They sat for a minute, just staring at each other.

"Thank you for my gift," Hermione finally murmured. "I've never had anything like it." She glanced down, one hand flitting unconsciously to the heavy gem resting on her chest.

He did not respond, but stood up and extended a hand to her in invitation. Hermione took it, and he led her to the window seat that looked out over the circular drive. They sat side by side for a few moments, not speaking, staring out the window. A thunderstorm had blown in, and lightning cast brief, eerie shadows every now and again in the fire-lit room. Rain lashed against the glass, almost drowning out the faint rumble of the distant thunder. "I've always liked to watch thunderstorms," Draco said offhandedly. "I reckon they're nature's way of making a necessary evil – rain, that is – entertaining."

Hermione smiled. "I've always liked thunderstorms, too." She turned to face him, and was momentarily disconcerted to find nothing but empty air. She looked down and realized that he was down on one knee, holding a black velvet box open. Nestled on the cushion inside was an antique-looking goblin-wrought ring. The interlaced fretwork pattern that made up the band wound up to a marquise emerald that had to be at least three carats. It was flanked on either side with smaller, emerald-cut diamonds, set lengthwise into the band. Hermione's breath caught in her throat at the sight of the ring, and at the sight of Draco's grey eyes, now soft and unassuming. _They change as quickly as the wind, those eyes,_ she thought.

"Speaking of necessary evils," Draco began, "I'm probably the last person you imagined you'd marry someday, and I doubt you ever thought you'd be forced into a lifelong bond with a man you don't love. But I h-hope you see it as I do, more like an arranged marriage than anything else." He swallowed convulsively. "I'm truly not the same person I was, and I promise I will do my best to keep you happy." He looked distinctly nervous as he reached for her left hand with his right one, still holding the ring box in his left. He cleared his throat, his thumb shakily caressing the back of her hand over and over. "Hermione Granger, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

The world was spinning, just a little. Hermione took a deep breath. "Yes," she whispered. Suddenly she found herself crushed against his chest for a few long moments. Releasing her from his grip, he removed the ring from the box and slid it onto the fourth finger of Hermione's left hand. It was a little loose, so he tapped it with his wand and muttered a spell. The ring immediately resized itself to Hermione's finger. She held up her hand to the light to admire the sparkling emerald in the centre.

"I hope you don't mind the Slytherin colours," Draco said anxiously. "It was my great-grandmother Malfoy's ring."

"It's…I've never seen a nicer engagement ring."

He visibly crumpled with relief. "I really do want to make things as nice for you as possible. It's not right, what they're doing, but I can't stop it yet," he mused. "But at least I can make one small part of it better, right now, for you." His eyes rested on her face, and after a moment of hesitation, he leaned in and brushed his mouth against hers. He tasted like wine, and he smelled warm, like patchouli and cedar and something else. The corner of Draco's mouth quivered slightly, and he kissed her again, this time with more intensity. She tentatively probed his lower lip with his tongue and was rewarded when his tongue met hers, dancing and retreating in a complicated rhythm. Her hands snaked up around his neck, and he twined both hands gently in her riotous curls, holding her near. The awkwardness crept up on Hermione again and she broke the kiss, breathing heavily.

"It's getting late," she said quietly. The clock on the mantle was showing five minutes to ten. "We have a big day tomorrow."

Draco stood, and held out a hand to her. "Come, I'll escort you to your quarters."

"Will I be locked in for the night?" She asked as they climbed the stairs to her quarters. He stiffened.

"Of course not. Tomorrow you will be my wife. By wizard law this is forever your home now, as well as mine." He indicated the manor about them with a wave of his hand. "I must ask you, however, not to leave the house alone, not even to go into the garden. It's for your own safety, not because I'm worried you'll run off," he explained. "You're protected as long as you remain inside Malfoy Manor, but you must not leave without me or a member of the family to escort you."

"I understand," Hermione nodded. They had reached the door to her quarters.

"Until tomorrow morning, then," Draco said. He kissed her hand once, formally, and disappeared down the dark hallway to his own room.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: A very few minor changes here, just stylistic things and the removal of an unnecessary mood-killer. -QnQ

* * *

**Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.**

**James A. Baldwin**

**Chapter 4 - Bare**

Hermione awoke with a yelp when Smidgen Apparated into her room the following morning. She cast about blearily, taking in the house elf, the unfamiliar surroundings, and the huge rack of wedding gowns that stood by the fireplace. It took her a good five seconds to realize exactly where she was, and precisely what in the blue _fuck_ was going on.

"Oh! Smidgen, you startled me," Hermione gasped, pressing a hand to her thudding heart.

"Mistress Malfoy is saying it's time you is up, Miss," squeaked Smidgen. "She is coming up to get you dressed."

Hermione bolted from the bed to the bathroom. She had slept in her underwear, and she wanted to brush her teeth and psych herself up before her mother-in-law spoke to her one-on-one for the first time. When she returned to the bedroom Narcissa had not yet arrived, so she changed quickly into her robes from the previous evening and sat in a wingchair by the fireplace, munching on the breakfast of croissants and fruit that Smidgen had brought. Hermione still felt a little disoriented; luckily, there was a cup of hot, strong tea on the tray, redolent with lemon and honey. _Clearly Draco is one to notice fine details_, she thought to herself. The caffeine worked its way into her bloodstream, paradoxically energizing and calming her at once. _The wonders of tea._

A gentle knock at the door roused Hermione from her reverie. She rose to answer it, and found Narcissa standing on the other side of the door with a large, pink box in her hands. "Good morning," the elder witch said shyly.

"Good morning," Hermione responded, equally shy. She held the door open wider. "Please come in."

Draco's mother stepped through the doorway, though it rather appeared she floated. Hermione had never seen Narcissa Malfoy close to before, and she found the statuesque witch radiated a gentle aura, much different from that of her sister, Bellatrix. Her beauty was captivating, Hermione judged, but it was old world grace and charm - as opposed to the hypnotic swaying of a cobra. Here the Slytherin element was mellow and charismatic. Hermione could see why Lucius Malfoy - and legions of other men, most likely - had fallen for a witch such as this. The effect was magnified when Narcissa turned her large hazel eyes on Hermione and smiled.

"I am sorry about yesterday," she apologized. "I confess I felt horribly guilty when I saw you. I know perfectly well who you are - I can only imagine how you're feeling just now."

"With all due respect, Mrs. Malfoy, I really don't think you can," Hermione managed.

Narcissa smiled ruefully. "No, I suppose not," she agreed. "You may not believe this, but I'm actually glad that Draco chose you. He and I spoke at length last night after he saw you to your quarters." Hermione blushed. A moment of silence passed between the two witches as each collected her thoughts.

"Speaking of Draco, he suggested that I make a trip to Diagon Alley this morning to find you something suitable to wear under your gown. I hope you'll like this." Narcissa handed the cumbersome pink box to Hermione, who sat on the edge of the bed to open it. Inside she found a strapless white corset, a garter belt and stockings, and a rather scandalous pair of knickers.

"Eep," she squeaked.

"Well, go try it on!" Narcissa urged impatiently.

Hermione emerged from the bathroom five minutes later, feeling completely exposed and rather ridiculous. She crossed both arms over her breasts protecively and stepped into her future mother-in-law's appraising gaze. "Lovely," Narcissa said. She circled Hermione slowly, and reached out to press her arms gently down to her sides. Hermione dipped her head to hide behind her hair. "Don't be ashamed," Narcissa admonished her. "It's important to wear a good support garment, otherwise your gown won't fit you properly. Are you comfortable? Can you breathe?" She examined the closures on the back of the corset carefully.

"Yes, I'm fine," Hermione assured her. "Let's see what there is for gowns."

A quick check of the rack yielded three dresses that she liked. She tried them one by one. The first was a rich, matte oyster satin, strapless and styled with sophisticated swathes of fabric that dropped from the snug, embroidered bodice. The style was wonderful on her, but Hermione thought the colour made her skin look rather greenish. The next was a creamy peau-de-soie, in a flattering halter style, with a chapel train on the belled skirt and beading that grew gradually sparser as it climbed. Narcissa thought it was perfect, but Hermione found the beading made it extremely heavy. The third was a simple white sheath, which neither witch thought was fancy enough once it came off the hanger.

"Hmmm," Narcissa mused. "Put that oyster satin one on again?"

Hermione obliged and stood on the little dressmaker's stool that Smidgen had produced for the occasion. Aiming her wand at the dress, Narcissa muttered a spell under her breath and tapped the dress once. It immediately changed colour, to the exact same hue as the cream peau-de-soie gown. "Perfect," she breathed. _"Orchideous!" _

Soon, Hermione's hair was twisted in a chignon with the orchids Narcissa had conjured pinned all around. She needed no makeup, so Narcissa simply conjured an orchid-and-calla lily bouquet for Hermione and helped her into delicate satin slippers.

"Now, there's the small matter of your wand," she said matter-of-factly.

"I thought I wasn't allowed to have a wand," Hermione grumbled. "Mine was destroyed when I was captured." The young bride was unable to keep the sorrow out of her voice, the grief for her missing instrument. She missed the feel of the vinewood and dragon heartstring in her hand.

"I have this one," Narcissa said, withdrawing a long, elegantly carved willow wand from her robes. "We're not supposed to let you keep it, but you require one for the marriage ceremony. It's willow and dragon heartstring. It belonged to a favourite great-uncle-by-marriage of mine. He was a remarkable man, the only one of us not to be in Slytherin ever, I believe. He didn't share my mother's pureblood ideology - he was a Ravenclaw and considered it highly uneducated. He was ahead of his time, my uncle, and he and my great-aunt did not have any children, so he left his wand to me when he died. He would have liked you very much." She held the wand, handle out, toward Hermione. "Go on, take it."

Hermione reached for the wand, and cast an experimental set of red sparks toward the fireplace. The wand seemed to accept her readily. "Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy. It feels good to hold a wand again."

"You might as well call me Narcissa, my dear. Now, we're not supposed to let you keep the wand, but you won't be leaving the house with it, so I see no reason for you not to have one. No one will know if you're sure to keep it out of sight when visitors are about."

"I'll be careful," Hermione assured her.

* * *

Outside in the garden, Severus, Lucius, and Draco were standing about, each puffing on a cigar and swirling a snifter of brandy. Hermione wasn't due to make her appearance for another five minutes, but Draco was already beginning to fidget nervously with the collar of his black dress robes.

"Lucius, I do hope you've briefed your son on the...erm...required exchange for the contract to be legal?" Snape eyed Draco speculatively. "After all, I would hate for him to be under the impression that he doesn't have to touch Miss Granger until he finds out otherwise tonight."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Believe me, Snape, I understand exactly what's required. Better than you do."

Lucius guffawed. "I'm sure I've raised my son with enough sangfroid to find himself equal to the task, Severus," he added.

"Assuming that her endless prattle doesn't kill the mood entirely," Snape countered. Lucius barked a laugh.

"Yes, Miss Granger is a firebrand. Your choice surprised me, Draco - I rather thought you'd like the sweet, silent type."

"Well, I've always thought all that hot air came in a pretty tight package, blood status notwithstanding," Draco replied. Snape grimaced.

Lucius checked his watch. "Oh, bugger, Draco, it's time. We'd best get into position." He Vanished their cigars and brandy snifters, and conjured a rose-covered arch under which Severus took his position, facing the house. Draco stood to his left with his father behind him.

The doors to the back garden opened up and Narcissa led Hermione out and slowly down to the arch where Draco was standing. It was a distance of about fifty feet, so he had a chance to look his bride up and down thoroughly. Her wild curls were pulled off her face and pinned up with flowers, save for a few that had worked their way loose. The strapless, full-skirted wedding gown she wore was a becoming shade of buttery cream, and the gold-embroidered bodice pushed her breasts up in a way that made them wobble interestingly as she walked. Her cheeks were flushed from nervousness, and her dark eyes glittered in the autumn sun.

She was the most breathtaking woman he had ever seen.

After Hermione reached Draco's side, she handed her bouquet to Narcissa, who stood just behind her. She and Draco turned to face one another and grasped left hands, crossing the wands in their right hands over each other, and the ceremony began.

"The witch and wizard before us have chosen to enter into the magical union of marriage, which may not be dissolved," Severus intoned. "Do you both come here freely and without reservations to enter into this covenant?"

"We do," Hermione and Draco lied in unison.

"Hermione, repeat after me: I, Hermione, take you, Draco..."

"I, Hermione, take you, Draco...to be bonded to me for life as my husband...to inspire you, to comfort you...and to share with you in all that is to come," she whispered. If she talked any louder, she would burst into tears. A few leaked down her cheek in spite of her. This was not the wedding she would have imagined for herself, but it was better than dying in a cage somewhere. It was all a bit much.

"Draco, repeat after me: I, Draco, take you, Hermione..."

"I, Draco, take you, Hermione...to be bonded to me for life as my wife...to honour you, to protect you...and to share with you in all that is to come," Draco repeated huskily. He squeezed Hermione's hand, his grey eyes boring into hers.

Snape muttered a long, complicated-sounding spell. He touched the tip of his wand to the point where the other two wands were crossed, and a golden light surrounded the couple for a moment before pulsing outward and disappearing. Two goblin-wrought rings, in a style that matched Hermione's engagement ring, appeared suddenly on their left hands.

"I declare that this wizard and witch are bonded together as husband and wife, by wizard law and magic. Draco, you may kiss your bride."

He leaned toward his new wife and captured her lips in a very gentle, very chaste kiss. Lucius wolf-whistled, and they all laughed (except for Snape, who rolled his eyes).

* * *

After the family and Snape shared a round of champagne and a light meal in the drawing room, Draco led Hermione to the fourth floor. "Where are we going?" She asked as they climbed the stairs past the third floor quarters.

"To our new home," he replied, fishing a large brass key from his pocket. "My parents live on the second floor mostly, and we will take our meals together in the family dining room, but you and I will have a separate apartment here. The room you were staying in was one of the guest suites," he explained. He unlocked the door, then quickly swung Hermione up into his arms. She wasn't expecting it and shrieked, but relaxed when she realized what was going on.

"Oof! Good grief, Granger! Either this dress weighs a fair bit on its own, or you've been taking full advantage of Ponky's cooking," he deadpanned. Hermione whacked him over the back of the head with her bouquet, which made him laugh.

"That's Malfoy to you," she quipped.

Draco stopped for a moment and stared at her, but did not respond - except to smile widely. He stepped over the threshold with her in his arms, careful not to bang her head on the door jamb. Once inside, he swung her down onto her feet in one of the most luxurious receiving rooms she had ever seen.

The western wall had three huge, mullioned windows facing the creek, which would allow the most of the afternoon sun. There was a fireplace on the north wall, surrounded by books in the same fashion as Hermione's guest bedroom. The south wall had two doors, presumably to the bedroom and bathroom. Comfortable-looking emerald green chairs and setees surrounded a low, square wood table in front of the fireplace. There was also a billiard table and a chess board inlaid with mother-of-pearl and ebony squares on a tiny pedestal between two padded stools. A fire was already laid in the grate, and a bottle of champagne stood chilling next to two glasses on the coffee table.

"More champagne?" Draco asked, pouring a glass.

"Please," Hermione said, perching next to him on a settee. She did not recognize the name on the bottle - Veuve Cliquot - although it looked expensive. The delicate taste exploded on her tongue with the thousands of tiny bubbles, and she closed her eyes to concentrate on the fumes wafting up her palate. Opening her eyes made her feel slightly dizzy. Draco was staring into his glass, watching the bubbles rise in columns from the bottom. She cleared her throat and he jumped, shaking the hair out of his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Lost in thought."

"I see," said his wife. "What now?"

"Don't waste time, do you, Granger?" Came the rhetorical response. "Wizard law says we have to consummate the marriage in order for it to be binding, and you won't be protected by the magical bond until it's consummated, either." He slid his eyes sideways to see a furious blush creeping up her cheeks. She looked down at the glass in her hands, suddenly afraid to meet his eyes.

"I already know about Wizarding marriage laws," she admitted. "It's just that I'm a...that is, I haven't..."

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "Merlin, Granger, you're a virgin?"

"Of course I am," she replied defensively, though she was secretly relieved he'd anticipated her confession. "What I want to know is, are all the rumours I heard about the Sex God of Slytherin true?"

She had him there. "That depends on what you've heard," he said wryly.

"How many?" she demanded.

Draco sighed. "Does it matter, Granger?"

"Please stop calling me that," she protested. "I'm your wife now. Don't you think we should be on a first-name basis, _Draco_?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "How many?"

"A few."

"Ah." Hermione was disappointed, but not really surprised. The air had gone from tentatively friendly to awkward again. She cast about for a change of subject. "Let's go see the rest of the suite," she said.

The bathroom was the door on the left, and appeared to be exactly the same as the bathroom in the guest quarters, except the tub was set into the floor and big enough for two. There was no window. The bedroom had another window like the three in the receiving room, and a king-sized bed dressed in shades of gold silk. Someone - probably one of the house elves - had strewn rose petals across the counterpane. This room had a fireplace too, though no fire. Draco aimed a quick _Incendio_ at it, and at once flames sprang up and began to crackle merrily. Another flick of his wand closed the golden curtains, sinking the room into a seductive semi-darkness. Hermione reached behind her and closed the door.

Draco moved toward her and laid both hands on her shoulders, stroking his fingers back and forth over her satiny skin. His hands slid feather-light down her arms to entwine his fingers in her own, but he made no move to kiss her. They stayed like that until she took a deep breath and reached up to kiss him softly. A sudden surge of passion ran like a flash burn through Draco's nerves, and he moaned into her mouth, plumbing the sweet depths with his tongue. She smelled wonderful, like flowers and sunshine and shampoo. Hermione's hands came to rest lightly on his chest, not pushing him away, not holding him near. He stroked the curve of her waist, liking the way the satin warmed and molded to her form. Slowly, his hand snuck around to the back of her dress and pulled the zipper down. She broke the kiss and, taking his hand for balance, stepped out of the dress as it puddled on the floor.

"Damn, Granger," was all he could think to say, voice cracking on the "damn". He looked her up and down.

Hermione kicked off her shoes and minced over to him on stockinged toes. Her Gryffindor courage kicking in to the full, she undid the clasp of his outer robe and slid it down his shoulders and onto the floor. He was wearing a simple, button-down black shirt and black dress slacks underneath. Following her example, he kicked off his shoes and socks. She pulled his shirt out of his pants and began unbuttoning it, planting a kiss on each new piece of skin she uncovered. Draco made a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh when she reached his belt buckle and licked his belly just above it. He pulled his shirt off eagerly, and moved to help her with the belt buckle, but she pushed his hands away and undid it herself, pulling the belt free and dropping it on top of the discarded shirt and robe. He was completely unprepared when she leaned forward and undid the button of his trousers with her teeth. It was all he could do not to thrust his hips forward as she lowered the zipper the same way and pushed his pants down over his hips. They dropped to the floor and Draco kicked them away hastily.

"I want to see a little more skin," he growled. Grabbing his wand, he muttered a quick charm that released all of the clasps on the corset. Hermione caught it as it fell forward, holding it against her chest. Draco stepped toward her, and his proximity made her shiver. "Don't be shy," he entreated. "You're very beautiful, you know." He reached up and pulled the flowers one by one from her hair, so that the curls toppled down and over her shoulders. "I love your hair." He picked up one curl and pulled it out so it extended nearly all the way to her bottom, then released it and watched it spring up to hang halfway down her back.

"I've always hated it. It's a right pain in the arse most of the time, to be honest," she said. "I'd give my eyeteeth for straight hair." She let the corset drop to her feet then, and all pretense was forgotten. Draco's eyes were as round as dinner plates. He reached out a large hand and cupped her left breast, rubbing the nipple with his palm. She gasped and arched into him, pressing the warm globe more firmly into his grasp. Hermione couldn't believe how good his hands felt on her. He seemed instinctively drawn to the places she liked to be touched, as though they had been lovers for ages. She watched as his blond head descended, scattering kisses down her neck and across her collarbone, closing her eyes in bliss as his lips closed on her right nipple. She made an involuntary animal sound. His faint laugh ghosted across her skin, making her shiver. His lips descended down over her slightly concave belly, pausing for his tongue to dip into the well of her navel. Hermione felt a wave of warmth pulse a little lower down, and could not help thrusting her hips forward slightly, a wanton sound of need escaping her.

"How do you get this thing off?" Draco whispered, glancing upward over her curves to meet her eyes, his hands tugging gently on the garter belt. Hermione stepped over to the bed and, sitting down, slipped off the garter belt, stockings, and knickers in one. Suddenly shy, she scooted back across the golden coverlet, eyeing the erection tenting the front of his forest green boxers.

"Do you want me to take these off?" Draco whispered, hooking his thumbs in the silk waistband. She nodded, a half-lidded look of lust in her eyes. He slid the boxers down and kicked them away, standing before her in all his naked glory. Hermione's ravenous gaze raked him from head to toe, taking in the toned chest and taut abdomen, the toned and muscular calves and thighs, and the drop of slippery moisture at the tip of his penis that testified to his arousal. Draco stalked slowly toward her, crawling across the bed until he lay on his stomach between her thighs, his erection trapped not-unpleasantly against his belly. His arms looped up and around her thighs, trapping them, while his hands rested on her jutting hipbones. Resting his nose in the fragrant thatch of trimmed brown curls between her legs, his tongue probed the slick tang of moisture that welled up from within her. Hermione cried out and thrust her hips upward, pressing herself to him. He dipped his tongue lower, delving experimentally inside her.

She screamed hoarsely in a voice that he had never heard before. Encouraged, he dipped his tongue inside her a few more times before he sucked gently at her clitoris, eliciting a squeal that faded to a moan as his tongue swirled around the sensitive nubbin. He probed her entrance with a finger, savouring the feeling of his saliva mixing with her moisture. Very, very gently, he crooked the finger slightly inside her, rubbing gently behind the swollen spot just beyond the entrance to her vagina. Hermione flattened her legs suddenly, and he felt her inner walls convulse as he stroked, a flood of moisture drenching his hand to the wrist. Her hands gripped his hair almost painfully, holding his face to her as she rode the tide of her orgasm to completion, calling his name.

"Hermione." Draco's voice seemed to come from far away. She opened her eyes and took him in, his hair disheveled, panting slightly. "I don't think I can wait much longer." He rolled off the bed and stood up, turning back his side of the covers. She wriggled underneath her side as he crawled in beside her. She reached over and pushed Draco flat onto the bed, straddling him. She kissed him deeply, languidly, tasting herself on his lips and tongue, then trailed kisses from his chin all the way to his ear. He felt him twitch when she licked just behind his earlobe and pressed her lips there.

"Mmm," he growled. She ran her tongue down the side of his neck, making him shiver. "I'm ticklish!" he yelped. Hermione giggled and nipped at him in response, making him twitch again. He could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips. She tilted her hips upward, rubbing her wet warmth all along the length of him. Quick as lightning, he circled her in his arms and flipped her over so he was pressing himself against her opening, holding himself over her on muscular arms. "Are you ready?" he asked, thrusting forward slightly to illustrate his point. A Cheshire grin and an answering thrust of her hips was her only answer. "Do you want me to do it fast, or slow?"

"Fast," she whispered. Needing no further invitation, Draco thrust firmly into her. She pressed her lips together, brow furrowed, but did not make a sound. He froze and watched her face, waiting for a sign to stop or continue. "I'm okay...just…hang on...can you hold still for a minute?" He nodded, glad for the moment to collect himself. She was so tight, warm and wet, that if he moved a muscle, he might explode. She relaxed, bit by bit, clenching and loosening her muscles experimentally in a way that nearly drove him mad, then held still again. "Okay," she breathed.

Foreheads pressed together, they made love slowly, each basking in the presence of the other. Each movement sent electric currents of pleasure coursing through Hermione's veins, building a sweet tension that bubbled and coalesced around the place where they were joined. Draco's movements became jerky and erratic, and the warm rush of his seed pushed her over the edge of climax. Their voices cried out as one as the shudders rippled from her core. When it was over, Draco collapsed on her right with his arm slung over her middle, panting. A sheen of sweat glazed his back.

"Are you all right?" She opened her eyes to find him watching her, his grey eyes limpid and peaceful. He raised one hand and stroked her cheek.

"I'm fine," she assured him, stretching langorously. "Better than fine."

"Mmm." He scooted up behind her, turning her on her left side and gathering her close to his chest.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N – A very few minor changes here.

**If I had no sense of humor, I would long ago have committed suicide. - Mohandas Gandhi**

**Chapter 5 - Secrets**

When Hermione awoke, the sun had gone down, and the fire was burning low in the fireplace. Draco's arm was draped around her midsection, holding her cradled against his chest. His breathing was regular and deep; trying not to wake him, she wriggled out from under his arm and laid it gently on the sheets behind her. He grunted and stirred, but did not wake.

She found two large, fluffy bathrobes hanging on hooks on the back of the bathroom door. She wrapped herself in the smaller of the two, then braided her curls quickly so they would stay out of her face. She noticed a small, strawberry love bite on her throat, just beginning to darken around the edges - evidence of what had happened earlier that day. Hermione stared at it in the mirror, feeling an odd combination of revulsion and wonder.

It was strange that Malfoy, of all people, would provoke such a strong sexual response in her. The past thirty-six hours had changed things, but there were six long years of water under the bridge they'd built. She wasn't sure that she could forget, even if she could forgive him - which had yet to be seen. He was right about one thing: Draco Malfoy was the last person she'd expected to lose her virginity to, much less marry. And Wizarding marriages were for life.

_Hermione Malfoy. _The name tasted foreign in her mouth. _Hermione J. Malfoy. Hermione Granger-Malfoy? Mrs. H. Malfoy... _

She stuck her tongue out at herself in the mirror, fighting off a serious case of the weirds.

"Having fun?" Draco was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his lean torso, totally nude. He smirked at her, totally confident in nothing but his skin. Hermione goggled at him and clutched the bathrobe closed reflexively, blushing. He closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around her from behind, kissing her on the cheek. She marveled inwardly at his ability to make her feel like an awkward first-year one moment, and like the sexiest woman in the world the next. For her, it was the difference between a marked antipathy and something that bordered dangerously on infatuation. As his lips worked their way down her neck, she watched them in the mirror, eyes half-closed. Who was this man (who was really two men)?

"Mmm." Draco buried his face in her neck and inhaled deeply. "You smell good."

"Like what?"

A smile spread against her skin. "Sex."

Hermione snorted. "I was just considering a bath."

He wasn't going to let her wash him off that easily. He knew the feel of his lips on the crook of her neck was devastating. "Can I join you?" A slight nip made her gasp. His hands had loosened the front of the bathrobe, and were circling her breasts in a manner that left her disinclined to deny him anything.

"Why not?"

He left her for a moment to retrieve their wands. Returning, Draco climbed into the tub and pointed his wand at the taps, which began to spew out warm water. He then laid both wands on the tiled tub surround and held out a hand to his wife. Taking it, she descended the little tiled stairs into the tub and sat next to him, the warm water easing out the aches and pains from sleeping in a position she was not accustomed to. She sighed contentedly and sank a little lower, closing her eyes.

"Hermione?"

"Hmmm?" She cracked one eye to see him holding a cake of soap toward her. She sat up a little and dipped the soap in the water, lathering it in her hands before she slid it across Draco's back. He sighed deeply. "Feel good?" She dropped the soap into the water with a _plop_ and dug her thumbs between his shoulder blades, making him groan in a thoroughly undignified manner. She was enjoying this vulnerable, sensual side of him, especially when he let her have the upper hand. Emboldened, she dropped her hands down and around his waist, sliding along and cupping him gently. Pressing her breasts against his back, she nipped at his earlobe. Her husband's skin rippled visibly into gooseflesh and he shuddered, but made no move to stop her as she licked and sucked at the tender flesh.

"Gods, Granger," Draco gasped. "Fuck. Ahhhh." He grabbed her wrist, stilling her stroking hand. "Wait. Can you hold that thought until later? We're going to be late for dinner." He dipped down into the water and retrieved the soap, then turned and lunged at her suddenly, sloshing water over her. She giggled and dipped under the surface, wetting her hair. When she popped back up, he was waiting to snare her in his arms.

"My turn," he breathed into her ear. He ran the soap over her back, using both hands to spread the lather and hold her to his chest. He scooped up handfuls of water and dribbled them down her back, rinsing her, then repeated his ministrations on her front. Next Draco lathered her hair with shampoo. Hermione leaned her head back into his hands. His talented fingers massaged over her scalp, kneading behind her ears and at the base of her skull. Little shivers of delight ran down the sides of her neck to her nipples. They begged for his touch, but his hands served her in only the most utilitarian of ways.

Once they had both rinsed themselves clean of shampoo and soap, they climbed out of the bathtub together, and Draco summoned two large towels for them. They stood together in peaceable silence, dabbing and drying as the tub drained. The silence continued as they dressed, Draco navy blue robes and Hermione in lavender. Presentable again, Draco offered Hermione his arm, and the two left their apartment and descended the stairs to dinner.

* * *

"Come up for air at last, have you?" Lucius hectored from the head of the table. Hermione blushed a pretty shade of rose and did not answer him. Draco gave his father a warning look and pulled Hermione's chair out for her, settling across from his father at the opposite end of the table. Narcissa was already seated across from Hermione, and she smiled sympathetically at the younger witch as she unfolded her napkin and laid it in her lap.

"We received an invitation from the Parkinsons today, Draco," Lucius addressed his son. "Seems Pansy insisted on having a nice, quiet affair for her wedding tomorrow - no more than two hundred people, a full seven-course meal, and a costume ball," he added ironically. He swiveled in his seat and regarded his new daughter-in-law with a glimmer of mirth in his sharp grey eyes. "I do hope you weren't put out by a private ceremony?"

Hermione shook her head, wide-eyed. Narcissa frowned and aimed a well-placed kick at her husband under the table. He merely smiled innocently, as though he'd asked Hermione's opinion of the weather, and leaned back to receive a steaming plate of food from a harried-looking Ponky. Once they had all been served, Lucius muttered a set of instructions to the house-elf, who nodded and returned to the kitchen. He cast two charms at the door in quick succession: one to lock it, the other to prevent eavesdropping. "Can't be too careful," he explained to Hermione, who looked alarmed.

"Now then," he began, turning to Hermione, "We need to brief you on a few quick...pointers...for tomorrow night. Firstly, your wand must stay at home, for obvious reasons." She nodded to show her understanding. "Secondly, you're now the wife of one of the richest pureblood heirs in Britain. You can expect to be treated with respect by most of the people there, although there are some who will, for appearance's sake, need to treat you with a certain...disdain. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Hermione whispered, wondering exactly what the following evening would have in store for her.

"Hermione, Fenrir Greyback is going to be there," Narcissa piped up. "I don't have to tell you how dangerous he can be. Obviously, tomorrow isn't a full moon, but Greyback has been known to take his pleasures whenever and wherever he finds them. He dares not touch a pureblood girl, but he would have the Dark Lord's protection and approval if he assaulted a Muggle-born for his own amusement, no matter whose wife she may be." She reached into her robes and pulled out a large silver pendant with a huge cabochon moonstone set into it. It hung on a heavy-looking Figaro chain. "This is a werewolf-repellant charm. You'll need to wear this the entire evening, in case Greyback starts feeling frisky." She leaned across the table and puddled the silver chain in Hermione's outstretched palm. "Don't worry - we'll match your gown to the moonstone," she said soothingly, as though Hermione had been sitting there fretting over her possible colour choices. Classic Narcissa; charming, but she always seemed to miss the mark just a little.

* * *

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. After dinner, the Malfoy family retired to the drawing room, where Narcissa seranaded them all on the piano while Draco and his father played a game of Wizard's chess in front of the fire. Hermione contented herself with an ancient volume on advanced Arithmancy that she pulled from the shelves. Around eleven o'clock, the elder Malfoys bid the young couple good evening and ascended to their second-floor quarters. Hermione had almost nodded off on her settle, nose dipping closer and closer to the spine of the book, before Draco swung her up into his arms and Apparated with her to their quarters. He laid her on the bed and stripped off her robes and shoes, threw the covers over her, and doffed his own robes before crawling into the bed himself. His new wife had dropped off to sleep the moment he laid her down, so he leaned on one elbow and watched her face in the shaft of bluish moonlight coming in the window.

Her normally guarded countenance softened in sleep. The moonlight bleached her skin of all colour, leaving her arched brows and thick dark lashes standing out in ghostly relief. Her lashes were so long that they nearly brushed her cheekbones. Her golden brown hair curled like seaweed on the pillow, still damp from the bath. In the eerie blue calm, he could almost believe her a mermaid, washed into his bed by the tides of good fortune. She sighed deeply and turned onto her left side, snuggling her bum into Draco's lap with a blissful, sleepy noise.

What was it about her, he wondered, that stirred him so? He liked to tease her; she had a quick mind that responded favourably to his little jabs and prods, and she always got satisfyingly angry after a while. He chuckled lowly. No, no sweet, quiet type for him. He needed a wife who could match wits with him, and the feisty little witch with her bum in his lap certainly had wit in spades. He slid a hand over the bum in question, enjoying the round ripe feel of it in his hand. Yes, Granger was definitely a choice piece of flesh, no question there. Even though she was wasted from her time in the slave camp, she still had curves to spare. Draco was looking forward to seeing the changes a good feeding up would bring to her body.

There was something more to this than just chemistry, though. Why did his heart flutter every time she looked at him with those big brown eyes? Those eyes suckered him in - all she had to do was bat her lashes, and he was putty in her hands. _Good thing she doesn't know it_, he thought, looking down at his wife's slumbering form. She muttered and frowned in her sleep. He kissed her neck softly, and the line between her brows eased.

The truth was, she was so much more than he had expected. Her touch was arousing, her mind interesting and complex - and her heart a complete secret. Draco hated secrets that he wasn't a part of. As he settled next to her to sleep, he vowed that he would find that secret out - one way or another.


	6. Chapter 6

Original A/N: Hello lovelies. Thank you all for your reviews and support. I just had to share one review that made my day. A very brave anonymous reviewer, identified only as "bitch", left this little nugget in my inbox after reading Chapter 3:

_"This story sucks (bleep) and its boring and we all know malfoy would have (bleep) that slave (bleep) by now. He'd have pounded her (bleep) like a black slave with big (bleep) and made her suck his (bleep) ."_

I LOL'd. The review is still there; I thought it was too funny to delete. Go check it out if you don't believe me. Go on, I'll wait.

Updated A/N: A few small changes here, mostly stylistic clean-ups.

* * *

**As we ascend the social ladder, viciousness wears a thicker mask. - Erich Fromm **

**Chapter 6 - Help Me**

Hermione took a deep breath and held tightly to the bedpost. "All right," she wheezed, "lace me up." Smidgen obliged, lacing her mistress into the whalebone stays she was wearing over a long, fine linen chemise. Once they were in place, Hermione stepped into the lacy, sky-coloured velvet petticoat and tied it about her midsection, then shrugged on the outer gown. Her helpful little house elf held up the stomacher and laced it into place. Made of silver-shot cerulean silk and embroidered all over with tiny vines and flowers in silver thread, the gown was impressive-looking, but very heavy. Lace dripped from the sleeves and liberally frilled the low, square neckline.

"Damn Pansy for choosing an 18th Century theme," Draco snarled from the corner, where he was staring at his reflection in the wardrobe mirror with distaste. He was wearing white hose with navy silk breeches, a waistcoat of the same fabric as Hermione's dress, and a dove-grey coat that matched his eyes nicely. His hair was slicked back from his forehead. He grimaced and pulled at the high, white linen stock around his throat.

"Gah," he snarled. "I look a right wanker." He frowned at his pewter-buckled shoes, which were a little too similar to his wife's for his taste. "And these bloody things hurt my feet."

Hermione giggled. "As someone who wears high heels on a regular basis, you'll forgive me if I don't feel too sorry for you." She began piling her hair on top of her head in a complicated spire, securing it here and there with a fixing charm but leaving a curl loose in front of each ear. "I admit it's a pain in the arse to dress like this, but we do look pretty amazing." She drifted to her husband's side, admiring the handsome figure they cut in their Old World finery.

"Turn 'round," Draco said, lifting the moonstone from its place, hanging on the inside of the wardrobe door on one of the many little hooks designed for just such a purpose. He latched it around Hermione's delicate throat. "There." He stepped back to allow her to check her reflection. The dress echoed the flashes of blue fire in the opalescent white stone hanging just above her cleavage. "That gown makes it look like just another accessory to any but the most discerning eye," he said, a note of sly satisfaction in his voice. He pulled one curl out to its full length and watched it spring back, a sight he never seemed to tire of. "You look lovely."

"Thank you," Hermione whispered, blushing. "You look nice yourself."

"Shall we?" Draco offered his arm to her. She took it gladly, pausing only to tuck her wand carefully away in a drawer and grab her little evening bag.

* * *

The Parkinson manor was quite impressive. As Draco and Hermione swept up the drive together, both warmly wrapped against the early September chill, he leaned over and whispered in her ear, lips barely moving. "Remember - for appearance's sake. Do not take anything _anyone _says to you to heart." They reached the door, where an ancient house elf ushered them into a large ballroom off the main foyer. Rows and rows of white chairs were set up in front of a small dais, over which stretched a bower of white roses and peonies. Most of the guests were already seated, so Draco and Hermione were ushered to their seats quickly by another house elf. Dean was already standing on the dais in black dress robes, to the left of the little wizard Hermione recognized from Dumbledore's funeral, and he gave Hermione a slight nod as she sank into her seat. Lucius and Narcissa were sitting a few seats down, and they greeted their son and his wife with a small wave and nod of acknowledgment. A moment later, the band to the right of the dais struck up a wedding march, and Pansy swept down the aisle escorted by her parents and a coterie of six giggling bridesmaids. She and Dean crossed wands and clasped hands, and the ceremony began.

Thankfully, it was mercifully short, just and Hermione and Draco's had been. Pansy was incredibly giggly throughout the whole ceremony, and Dean solid as a rock. It was obvious that his new bride adored being the centre of attention; Hermione rather hoped that Dean wouldn't be treated cruelly when he went out of fashion. Pansy seemed satisfied enough with her choice, though; the kiss at the end of the ceremony was passionless but friendly. _Perhaps it will come with time, _she thought, and snuck a peek at her husband's bored-looking profile. As the guests applauded the new couple, the band picked up and moved. The chairs and decorated dais were Vanished by someone, and a great many tables appeared, ringing a large dance floor.

Draco and Hermione were seated with Lucius and Narcissa, Fenrir Greyback, Severus Snape, Theodore Nott, and Blaise Zabini. Wedged protectively between Draco and Narcissa, with Lucius sitting on his wife's other side, Hermione could scarcely imagine stranger dinner company. It was like one of Slughorn's parties combined with a nightmare. Theo seemed to be pleasant enough, though somewhat aloof, conversing only with Zabini, who was his usual snotty self. Fenrir, sitting next to Lucius, eschewed the salad and soup courses, waiting instead for the prime rib to be served. He watched Hermione eat with obvious pleasure, his eyes flickering from her pendant to her face to Draco's face and back again every so often. She could hear snippets of their conversation, but pretended to be absorbed in her plate as she strained her ears to hear more.

"...Seems quite taken with the girl," Lucius was saying.

"She's a lovely morsel, isn't she?" Greyback growled, his eyes flickering to the creamy flesh so abundantly displayed by her tight bodice. "A little skinny for my taste, though." His eyes did their little dance again, then he turned his attention back to Lucius. "How much did you say you paid for her?"

"Thirty thousand, if you can believe it. A coming-of-age gift for my son."

Greyback raised one grey, bushy eyebrow. "That's a steep price for a mudblood, no matter how pretty." Lucius shrugged.

Hermione stiffened, but Draco tightened a warning hand on her knee under the table. _Remember_, he mentally telegraphed. "Never mind her blood status, Greyback," he put in with uncharacteristic loudness, grinning lasciviously. "It's not her blood I'm interested in." He leered over Hermione's shoulder, waggling his eyebrows sugestively.

"And there's no accounting for taste," Lucius agreed smoothly, surveying his daughter-in-law with a trademark sneer. The three men burst into laughter as Hermione's cheeks began to burn.

"Aw, come now, my pretty mudblood," Draco soothed, chucking her under the chin. "Don't be embarrassed. After all, that's why the Dark Lord saw fit to keep you alive - to elevate such filth as yourself through advantageous union." Fenrir guffawed. Draco affected a grin, but his insides squirmed when he saw the effect his words had on his wife. She went from scarlet to white, and tears flooded her wounded brown eyes, although she did not let them fall. In another time and place, she would have punched him in the face, or screamed insults back at him, but this was a new game; the old rules no longer applied. She settled for crossing her legs so that his hand fell off her knee and feigned interest in the stuffed tomato on her plate.

At long last, dinner came to an end and the dancing began. Dean and Pansy opened with a slow dance, and then couples began to drift to the dance floor in twos and threes. Draco was a wee bit drunk, leaning across Hermione and talking loudly to Greyback and his father. Disgusted and unable to sit still any longer, Hermione pushed away from the table and edged along the wall, seeking a few minutes' escape in the loo. It seemed as viable an excuse as any to get away from the table and her foul-mouthed berk of a husband. She rounded the corner and smacked into a familiar, black-covered chest. Pale hands shot out and gripped her upper arms, steadying her.

"Going somewhere, Mrs. Malfoy?" Snape's quipped, his black eyes inscrutable.

"That's none of your concern, Snape," she fired back nastily, seeing no reason to address her former Potions master with a title. His inky eyebrows rocketed skyward.

"Take care, Mrs. Malfoy. Your husband would hex you senseless if he heard you speak to me with such...disrespect." His silky baritone betrayed none of the mirth in his black eyes, the only part of him that ever really showed emotion. "I fear you must favour me with a dance, or risk offending me further." Before she could resist, he swept her onto the dance floor. Hermione had never seen him dance, not even at the Yule Ball, and was surprised to find he was quite good. "Trust me," Snape whispered in her ear. "This will take longer than a trip to the loo."

Hermione relaxed a little at his words. He had seen her distress and was alleviating it as best he could, in the only way that was appropriate. It was odd behaviour for him and unexpected, but nice. They revolved slowly on the dance floor, surrounded by other swaying couples, and little by little, she began to feel better. When the dance ended, Snape released her and pressed a tiny phial into her hand. "Take this," he muttered. "It's Calming Draught."

"Thank you," she mouthed, and slipped away.

* * *

Draco was waiting for her outside the ladies' room when she finally emerged. Hermione refused to acknowledge him and swept past with all the dignity she could muster, but he caught up with her in a few strides, clamping her upper arm with a hand like a vise.

"Hermione, _please_," he wheedled, his tone at odds with his iron grip. "I warned you we would have to play the part. Stop being ridiculous and come dance with me." He tugged forcefully on her arm, but she dug in her heels and stood her ground.

"Get your hands _off _me, Malfoy," Hermione growled. "You didn't have to take it so far. You enjoyed every moment of it, didn't you?" She wrenched herself from his grasp and made to march away, nose in the air, but he moved quicker and blocked her way, leaning in close.

"I don't think so, Granger," he hissed. "You're my property, remember? I'll touch you as I please." He trailed a finger down her cleavage, and a whiff of Ogden's reached her nostrils.

Something in Hermione snapped at that moment. She had given herself wholeheartedly to this hideous beast of a man in an attempt to find some happiness in this dark world, and had even believed that love between them might be possible, for a fleeting moment. Clearly, she'd been drawn in like a mouse to the hypnotic snake, driven out of her mind with lust and drunk on material wealth. Hatred and fury and shame flowed through her veins, racing past the Calming Draught and clouding her mind like India ink dropped in a glass of water. Her hand connected with his left cheek with a satisfying _smack! _

Draco's head rocked back from the force of the blow and he bit his tongue, tasting blood. Infuriated, he rounded on her with his wand and roared, _"Petrificus Totalus!" _

Hermione fell over, all her muscles rigid. On the way down, her head connected with the wall with a resounding meaty _crack_. Her eyes rolled back and she fell into unconsciousness.


	7. Chapter 7

Original A/N: Ha, I thought that last chapter would stir up a few reviews! Thank you to everyone who added me to an alert or favourites list or took the time to drop me a note. Your comments are my only payment!

Some of you were a little pissed with me after the last chapter, and you're not going to be any happier about this one. Try not to be too dismayed by what you see - the course of true love never did run smooth, right? ;) And the end is a long way off, with lots of things yet to come.

Updated A/N: More stylistic clean-ups.

* * *

**Chapter 7 - Watchful Waiting**

Hermione awoke a few minutes later with her head in Draco's lap. Though her vision was blurry around the edges, she could see tears trickling down his cheeks. The pounding in the back of her head, where she had cracked it, was unbelievable. She sat up and vomited suddenly.

"Evanesco." Snape took care of the mess she made, then lifted her into his arms from Draco's lap. With a cold look at his young friend, Snape turned on the spot and Disapparated.

* * *

Draco sat in front of the fire in the new quarters he shared with his wife, getting blasted and staring sullenly at the dancing flames. He'd come home after Snape Disapparated to Merlin-knew-where with Hermione in his arms. Already drunk from the wedding, he was now sitting alone and drinking large amounts of cherry brandy; his parents and the other guests at the wedding were unaware of the mad scene that had taken place outside the lavatory.

His thoughts wouldn't have translated easily into words, but the general theme was one of self-loathing. He replayed the scene over and over in his mind: Hermione slapping him, the spell he cast without thinking, the horrifying noise her head made when it bounced off the wall. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to erase the image of his wife, unconscious and bleeding on the floor, and those moments where he'd been sure she was dead. Before now, the pain and guilt he felt for hurting Katie Bell, and for his part in Dumbledore's death, had been the worst pain Draco had ever felt. Watching Hermione bleed and vomit because of something he did was a million times worse. He didn't really know Katie Bell, and he'd felt nothing but disgust for the doddering old Headmaster, so that had blunted the sharp edge a bit. He hadn't expected the depth of the sorrow that engulfed him when he hurt someone he...loved?

He could not wrap his mind around it. It was true that he'd always found her attractive, even before she had her teeth fixed. She'd developed nice curves, and she was taking better care of her hair now than she had as a little girl. He'd watched her often in classes and at meals, and he'd even lurked in the library a few times when she was studying, just to get a glimpse of her. She couldn't possibly know about all the times he'd stroked himself off, imagining her touch. Yes, Granger was sexy, all right. And smart. And interesting. And beautiful. And everything he'd ever wanted in a woman. But love? He shook his head to clear it, then immediately wished he hadn't as the room started to spin lazily. He bolted to the bathroom.

* * *

Sometime later, Draco awoke with his cheek stuck sweatily to the toilet seat. His head pounded as he retched over the bowl one last time, then flushed and crawled on all fours to the bed. Just as he was slipping between the sheets, nude as usual, he heard someone enter the suite and close the door with a soft click. Two low voices spoke in the hallway, one almost inaudible through the closed door, the other a low rumble. He waited for the bedroom door to open, but nothing happened. It seemed he heard the front door open and close again, and then everything went silent.

Draco listened, ears straining in the dark, but there was no sound from the receiving room. _That's it_, he thought. _I can't stand it anymore. _He rose from the bed and put his boxers and a t-shirt on. When he padded out of the bedroom, barefoot, he was shocked to see the room empty.

"Hermione?" he called softly. "Is that you?"

No answer.

He crept over to the settle facing the fireplace and found his wife, stripped of her gown but still wearing the long linen chemise. She was stretched out with her hair undone and spread across a throw pillow. The dying firelight flickered over her sleeping features. Standing next to her in a rack on the low coffee table were several phials, one of which was empty. He sniffed at it suspiciously, but it was only Headache Draught. Clearly, Snape had brought Hermione somewhere for treatment and brought her back here to sleep, and she had chosen not to enter the bedroom. Draco's heart throbbed painfully at the thought, and for the second time that night, tears began to course soundlessly down his cheeks. He perched on a footstool near her head, reaching over tenderly to brush a curl away from her face. She stirred a little and settled more deeply into sleep with a frown.

He could not have said how long he sat there, watching her. Eventually, he rose and walked back to the bedroom, where he crawled under the covers again and stared at the blackness around him. He did not sleep until the rising sun began to streak the sky with pink.

* * *

Draco descended the main staircase to breakfast alone. Hermione had vanished from the settle long before he awakened, and a quick glance at the clock proved it was almost noon. Still feeling groggy, and with a throbbing headache, he shuffled into the empty kitchen and accepted a cup of black coffee from Ponky with a grunt of thanks. Pulling up a stool to the breakfast bar, he sat warming his hands around his cup, staring into it as though it could tell him what to do.

"Mistress Hermione is in the drawing room, Master Draco," Ponky said after a long moment. Draco nodded mutely, then slid off the stool, abandoning his half-drunk coffee on the counter.

The heavy drapes were pulled back from the windows, allowing the grey light from the rainy day outside to melt through the glass. He shimmied along the wall, leaning around the door to glimpse her reaching for a potions book on tiptoe, watched closely by a hovering Snape. The sight of the greasy black bat poised so near his wife, one white hand held protectively in the air behind her back as she reached, made Draco's stomach twist sourly.

"...in one of these books here," Hermione was saying, flipping through the leather-bound volume she'd pulled from the shelf. She looked disappointed, however, and slid the book back into place. "There's nothing," she said with a sigh. "That's the sixth book we've looked at."

"I believe we may be forced to invent a potion of our own, Mrs. Malfoy," Snape muttered, flipping to the back of a different book and running one finger up and down the pages of the index.

_What on Earth are they looking for? _Draco wondered.

"We?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You're the Potions Master here, not me."

"Ah, but in this case, the incantations used to brew the potion will be as fundamental to its success as the ingredients," Snape mused. His dark eyes regarded his companion carefully. "I'll do the brewing, you'll do the research."

"That's fair," Hermione shrugged. "Where to begin?"

"I suggest looking up the properties of the ingredients of Veritaserum. It will be a good place to start, as the truth will be required for the potion to work properly. I trust you'll continue in an appropriate vein from there." He skimmed the bookshelf, searching out a particular tome, and reached past Hermione to grab it. The movement brought him so close to her, Draco had to bite his tongue to suppress his howl of rage.

"Try this one," Snape said laconically, handing the book to Hermione. She had never seen him so at ease; he treated her almost as an equal. He could be quite charming, really; it was his usual manner that was unattractive, not truly his appearance. She pretended to look through the book while watching Snape through her eyelashes. His aristocratic profile betrayed no hint of his inner thoughts as he scoured another shelf, looking for an answer in all those pages. His features were aquiline, really, like the portrait on a Roman coin, and he moved with a deceptive grace as he reached and stooped and searched among the rows of books. When he dropped the pretense of the severe Potions master and closeted Death Eater, he was...different.

_What am I thinking? _Hermione wondered in amazement, snapping back to the here and now. _I'm married now, even if my husband is a brute. I shouldn't be thinking thoughts like that about another man - especially Snape, of all people! He's old and bitter and likely to die soon, anyway. _She slammed the book closed and turned to leave the library.

"I'm beginning to get a headache again," she lied, anxious to mull her thoughts over in private. Snape was at her side in a flash.

"Are you quite well, Mrs. Malfoy?" he asked solicitously, checking the bandage just under her ponytail.

"I'm fine, Severus," Hermione smiled, "just tired and a little wobbly. I'm going to go upstairs and lie down. I'll see you later?"

Draco did not wait to hear Snape's response. He fled back to their suite, his mind pounding in time to his footsteps.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I'm sorry this update is so late and so short, but I've been super sick all weekend. Give me a few days to get better, and I'll resume my previous pace.

Attention all reviewers: most of you are lovely, but this needs to be said.

**If you think this fic sucks, stop reading it and go write your own; don't fill my inbox with mockery and rude comments. **I want to hear from you if you would like to offer support and encouragement, express your enjoyment, report a spelling or typographical error, or offer a legitimate criticism with regard to dialogue, setting, or characterization. Otherwise, I don't want to hear it. I'm going to turn off anonymous reviews as well. If you want to comment that badly, you can bloody well log in.

That is all.

* * *

**In every marriage more than a week old, there are grounds for divorce. The trick is to find, and continue to find, grounds for marriage. -Robert Anderson**

**Chapter 8 - Cease-Fire**

Hermione and Draco continued their strange, awkward dance for several days. They had an unspoken agreement between them - keep to the routine, vacate the room immediately when the other enters, sleep apart. Hermione avoided their private quarters altogether, choosing instead to sleep in the guest quarters where she had spent her first night. Draco hardly slept and did not eat at all; Narcissa, who prised the story out of her son eventually, forced him to at least have tea and fussed over him constantly, spending long hours by his side. He really wished to be left alone, but his mother was so sorrowfully solicitous that he hadn't the heart to turn her away.

"You must speak to her, Draco," she urged him for the umpteenth time; her voice held a peevish edge. They were walking out in the back garden, taking in what might be one of the last beautiful days of the year. He frowned, pulling a leaf from the hedgerow and examining it closely to avoid looking at his mother. Snakes of shame and fear writhed in his belly.

"You are bonded to the witch in there by magic and by law," she reminded him, indicating the manor behind them with a wave of her arm. "It was _your_ carelessness that knocked her senseless the other night. Don't you think you owe her an apology, after the way you've behaved?"

"I owe her nothing." Draco scowled, crumpling the leaf in his hand. "I purchased her from that filthy market because I felt sorry for her, and no other reason. I promised her food and lodging and books, nothing more, and certainly not Elysian happiness. She is welcome to live separately from me, if she so wishes." His voice was becoming louder and angrier with every word. "I had to treat her with disrespect at dinner. Greyback _noticed _the moonstone amulet, Mother." He paused, chest heaving. "We _warned_ her that she might be treated with disrespect, and to pay it no mind."

"You took it too far, Draco!" Narcissa shrieked, stamping one delicate foot in rage. "Honestly, I think I've coddled you far too long. You're self-absorbed, and violent, and cruel. That poor girl has been tortured enough at your hands, and at your father's hands." The mother and son were now nose-to-nose, hollering at each other. "Your attempt at kindness, which was really only an attempt to assuage your guilty conscience, brought her right into the belly of the beast in the first place! Did you ever think of that?"

"And did you ever think that perhaps she has everything to gain, being married to me and my wealth and still free t-to...to seduce whomever she pleases?" He choked on that last. "When you and Father die, Malfoy Manor is mine. If something happens to me...it is hers."

"Free to seduce whomever she pleases?" Narcissa repeated blankly.

"Snape." He spat the word out like a watermelon seed. His mother's eyebrows nearly disappeared into her fair hair.

"I mean it, Mother. I've been watching them in the drawing room." His fair cheeks turned a dull red with the admission. "You should see how she looks at him, and how he follows her around like a crup." Draco snarled at the memory.

Narcissa sighed. "You're being perfectly ridiculous, Draco. Snape is a former Hogwarts professor. I would imagine his feelings toward Hermione run somewhere between protectiveness and guilt. He is also aware of the towering intellect your wife possesses, and its usefulness to us." Even in her own back garden, she was wisely circumspect about their plans, and glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder. "I'm certain he's merely trying to undo the damage you've done, and be an ear for the girl. Merlin knows she hasn't anyone else to talk to."

His mother's words slapped Draco across the face as surely as her hand would have.

"The part of Severus that was able to love died with Lily Potter, Draco," she continued softly. "I doubt he would look to another man's wife to resurrect it. You, on the other hand, did not buy that girl out of guilt or pity alone. You're your father's son, to be sure, but neither of you are very good at lying to me." She sighed, and patted his cheek with an air of finality. "Best get it over with. Go to your wife - she needs you."

* * *

Draco found Hermione curled on the window seat in the drawing room - alone, this time. She was paging through a fat leather book with gold-edged leaves, twirling one curl absently through her fingers. She was so absorbed in her reading that she jumped a mile when he cleared his throat.

"You startle easily," he commented.

"You'd startle easily too, if you were watching your back," she said icily. He winced. She returned her attention to her book, ignoring him for several minutes. In fact, she did not look up until Draco settled next to her on the window seat.

"I'm sorry, did you want something?" She asked in a bored voice. "I'm really very busy." As she lifted her left hand to turn a page, he noticed that the engagement and wedding rings were missing from her fourth finger. He felt a sharp jolt of pain at the sight, followed quickly by anger. She _would _find subtle ways to torment him.

"I came to apologize," he muttered, "but you obviously don't want to hear it, so I won't trouble you further." He rose to leave, but to his surprise, she grabbed his hand and pulled him back down to the seat.

"Wait." They stared at each other for a long moment. Hermione had been quite comfortable in her righteous anger - it was like an old friend, that feeling, familiar and safe. And now here they were, and he was about to disarm her completely...

"I'm sorry," Draco said at last. To his surprise, Hermione launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder.

"No, I'm sorry," she wailed, bursting into tears. Startled by her sudden mood shift, his arms went reflexively about her, gathering her into his lap and stroking her hair.

"You've nothing to be sorry for," he whispered into her hair. A few curls tickled his nose, so he smoothed them away and kissed the top of her head. "I was very drunk and I treated you horribly. I saw Greyback looking at that pendant, and I got worried. I had to make gr sure he thought I was keeping you safe to have the pleasure of...hurting you myself. It's the only thing he understands. And then you wouldn't talk to me, and I just wanted you to stay, so I could tell you..."

He rocked her back and forth for a long time, until her sobs quietened to little shuddering sniffles every once in awhile. "Forgive me?" he asked, stroking the last of her tears away with a thumb.

"Only if you forgive me," she murmured, hiccupping.

He grinned. "Deal."


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: First new chapter in 3 years! I hope you've reread the previous 8 chapters to refresh your memory. We're jumping directly back in!

I decided to make another few small revisions to the first chapter. It's now been 15 months since Draco's 17th birthday, not three, so Hermione was on the run for more than a year.

I'm warning you now – in previous A/Ns, when I said this will be a novel-length fic, I meant it. We're looking at probably 30+ chapters. Most of the time – and this includes naps – I'm an F-18, bro.

* * *

**I believe in the compelling power of love. I do not understand it. I believe it to be the most fragrant blossom of all this thorny existence. - ****Theodore Dreiser**

**Chapter 9 – Idyll**

Draco and Hermione spent several hours together in the drawing room, she pretending to read and he re-stringing and tuning his guitar as slowly as possible. Though official forgiveness had been exchanged, neither of them could think of anything to say to the other. The bond between them was too new and too deeply damaged for hot, steamy make-up sex on the drawing room settle, but neither felt it would be right to beat a hasty retreat. Draco wanted so badly to commune with her, but her mind was an escaped bird, never lighting in one place long enough to be recaptured. Dinner was a quiet affair as well, a simple meal in the formal dining room with only the two of them, since Narcissa and Lucius had gone out for the evening.

_It's so awkward and silent between us now_, Hermione mused. The tenuous intimacy forged by their wedding and consummation seemed lost in the fires of confusion, doubt, and anger. She wondered if it could be restored. If so, how? And when?

At the end of the evening, they ascended the staircase together. Hermione was surprised when Draco stopped at the door to the guest quarters on the third floor, his hands in his pockets and his body half-turned to continue on to the fourth floor.

"Well, I shall say goodnight." He hesitated, unsure of his next move. His eyes were heavy-lidded and distant in the dimly lit corridor. Hermione knew then that he no longer expected to live as her husband. The burden of guilt he bore was too great, and not just from recent events.

Hermione felt a wave of her own guilt at the realization. She was aware of her own self-righteous attitude at times, her over-willingness to take Draco's words and actions the wrong way, her inability to separate _here and now_ from _then and there_, or the appearance of disdain from the reality of it. _Aren't I entitled?_ _After all, I _am_ the captive here_. She glanced down at her left hand, where she had not yet replaced her engagement ring and gold wedding band. She could feel the absence of them burning her finger. _Strange shackles, that a captive should miss them. _The thought disquieted and paralyzed her. When she did not immediately move or speak, Draco turned fully from her and slowly walked away.

"Draco, wait. Please?"

He stopped, but did not turn.

"I'm coming with you. I just have to get something." Hermione opened the door to the guest suite, crossed the room quickly, and retrieved her rings from the same jewelry box where she had found her topaz pendant. When she returned to the corridor, Draco was leaning against the wall beside her door, his face expressionless so as to hide the joyful bubble of hope bouncing around inside his heart. She made to replace the rings, but he stopped her, taking the rings from her and sliding them on her finger himself. The gesture brought back their wedding day with force to Hermione's mind, a slideshow of memories: Draco's grey eyes holding hers while he repeated his vows after Severus; Draco, carrying her across the threshold of their quarters with a big smile on his face; Draco, platinum hair mussed and eyes closed, crying out in her arms as they made love. _Merlin, has it really only been five days?_

Six days since she had been…rescued, for lack of a better word. Five days of marriage.

"Ready?" He asked. She nodded wordlessly. He took her hand. "Let's go upstairs."

* * *

Their quarters were ready for their arrival. Draco was fairly certain that Ponky liked to spy on her master and mistress – there was a fire laid in the grate and two large glasses of red wine on the low table. As if reading his mind, Hermione said suddenly, "Ever get the feeling you're being watched?"

"I've never had a house elf who liked to play matchmaker before," he agreed. _Handy, that. _He handed a glass of wine to his wife, feeling a jolt of electricity when their fingers brushed. He sat back on the settee, and Hermione did the same, settling into the crook of the opposite arm. Draco noticed the distance between them with a pang. _Dammit, why does she draw me in and then run from me at every opportunity? As if I didn't know. And why does it hurt so bloody much every single time?  
_

Another voice from inside him spoke up from its dark corner. _Make her run in the opposite direction. _

_Yes._

"Hermione, we need to talk."

"Isn't that what we're doing?"

_Goddamn fucking irritating Granger mouth_, he thought. "There's more that must be said."

She raised an eyebrow. "Go on?"

Draco licked his lips. "I think we need to start over completely. Start as friends."

Both of Hermione's eyebrows were now up. She'd heard some pretty ludicrous things come out of Malfoy's mouth over the years, but this was surely the kicker. "Start over?" She repeated. "As _friends_?" She was on her feet now, her hands clenched at her sides. Draco sighed inwardly, recognizing what he had come to think of as the "squalling wet cat phenomenon".

"Malfoy, for as long as I've known you you've been cruel to me, been a part of the evil that killed one of my best friends and saw the other imprisoned for life in Azkaban, not to mention what's happened to his family and everybody who supported Harry." She choked on the name that she had not spoken in so long. "I get caught after a year of living on the run, then you buy me from a slave market, bring me home, give me lavish gifts, marry me, _fuck_ me, nearly split my head open, apologize and tell me you just want to be _friends_?" She laughed humourlessly.

"Just listen to me, dammit!" He slammed the wineglass down on the table so hard that it shattered in his hand. "Ow! FUCK!"

"Draco!" Hermione gasped. In spite of herself, she was next to him in an instant, grabbing for his hand. "Let me see it." Hermione withdrew her wand from the inside pocket of her robes and siphoned the blood off his hand. A few small pieces of glass stuck out here and there in his palm. "Eurgh. That's nasty." She bent her head and examined them closely.

"I had little choice about _when_ to marry, but I did a have choice about _whom_ to marry. Well, sort of," he amended. "Admittedly, those choices were narrowed for me, but I still had some small measure of choice. And when I saw you there…" he trailed off. She looked up from his palm, warm brown eyes meeting cool grey ones. "I made my choice." He flinched slightly when Hermione began charming the pieces of glass out of his hand. With a few more charms, she was able to heal his hand completely.

"Thank you." He examined his palm and wiggled his fingers. "It doesn't hurt at all anymore. You're good at healing charms."

"Yeah, well." Hermione dismissed his compliment grimly and stowed her wand back in its hidden pocket. "So you chose me," she said bluntly, "out of all the people you never would have considered at all, if things were different." Her searching eyes pinned him to his seat. "What is that supposed to tell me?"

"I don't know," Draco admitted. "I guess my point is, I can't undo anything I've done to hurt you in the past. But I meant it when I said we should start over. I'm not the same person I used to be." He took her wineglass from her and set it on the table gingerly. "I didn't mean that friends are all we should ever be," he explained, taking her hand and stroking it gently with his thumb. "But for right now, I think we need to get to know each other. All we have now are bad memories and misconceptions, and that's nothing to base a marriage on, no matter how good the sex is."

Hermione had to admit that Draco's words made sense. _He's done it again_, she thought. "So what now?"

He yawned and stretched. _Game on._ "Well, I don't expect to solve this problem overnight. And I'm tired." Standing, he waved his wand at the broken wineglass. The mess disappeared instantly.

"Should I leave?" Hermione asked.

"I didn't say that," Draco replied as he retreated to the bathroom, "but it's up to you. I'm going to take a bath before bed." Once inside his refuge, he closed the door and locked it with a _Colloportus_. It wasn't anything that Hermione couldn't undo, but he reckoned it would get the point across if she tried to open the door.

Hermione's head was swimming, and not just from the wine. _On the one hand, he tells me he chose me. On the other hand, he wants to start over as friends._ _What the fuck, Malfoy_, she thought. She had to admit that her physical attraction to him was compelling. Even now, the thought of him naked on the other side of the bathroom door was sending pleasant shocks through her body. It was strange how someone who had revolted her on principle in the past could now arouse her lust.

* * *

When Draco entered the bedroom, he was greeted by the sound of quiet, regular breathing. He wasn't fooled in the slightest by Hermione's false sleep. _She's got stones_, he thought, but then remembered that he had married a Gryffindor. _Of course she's got stones. But it's not going to work this time._ Not to be outdone by Gryffindor boldness, Draco was employing his Slytherin craftiness to the full. Though he usually slept naked, this evening he had dressed for bed in a t-shirt and boxers, knowing Hermione would notice the change. He slipped under the covers on his side of the bed, making no move to pull her near or curl up against her.

Hermione was lying in wait for Draco to find her naked under the sheets. She was more than disappointed when he did not turn the sheets back far enough to even notice she was nude, much less touch her in any way. She cracked an eyelid in his direction. In the tiny amount of moonlight coming through the window, she could see that he lay on his back, eyes closed, but she could tell from his breathing that he was not asleep.

"Goodnight, Hermione," Draco said pointedly.

She sighed through her nose and rolled over, just in time to miss the wicked grin that flashed across Draco's face in the darkness.

* * *

When Hermione awoke, it was very early; the sunlight had only just begun to poke grey fingers through the curtains. She was lying on her left side, facing Draco, who was still asleep on his back, left arm over his middle and the right lying slack at his side. She loved to watch him sleep – it was rare to see him so unguarded. Her fingers itched to touch him, but then she remembered the "just friends" edict that King Draco had handed down the previous evening. It made her blood boil all over again.

_Why exactly does that bother you?_ She asked herself. _The marriage is legal and binding, you're protected. You don't ever have to touch Ferret Boy again, if you don't want to._

_But that's just the problem, _she replied to herself._ I _do_ want to. The question is why. _

Hermione sighed. ___I'll just have to show him that I am _not_ a woman to be denied._

* * *

"Ah, Madam Malfoy the younger graces us with her presence," Lucius greeted from the head of the dining room table. _He never does tire of being an arse,_ Hermione thought. _I guess now I know where Draco gets it from. _The younger arse in question was sitting to his father's right, methodically disemboweling a grapefruit. He looked up.

"Good morning," he greeted his wife. He thought she looked particularly well; her shining brown hair was loose, still-damp curls cascading down the back of the light yellow robes she had chosen for the day.

"Good morning," she said to nobody in particular. "Where's Narcissa?"

"Shopping again," Lucius replied. "It seems there are a few things we will need for this evening, and Narcissa does not pass up a chance to visit the shops."

"This evening?" Hermione repeated. "What's this evening?"

"Draco didn't tell you?" Lucius clucked, a sudden sparkle of mirth in his eyes. "Too busy to talk, I suppose." Hermione blushed and busied herself with buttering her toast instead. She was beginning to dread her father-in-law. "Severus is coming by this evening – he's found something." Lucius cut his eyes at the door, where Ponky emerged a second later carrying a large tray of omelets. Hermione acknowledged the gesture with a slight nod. More would be said later, behind doors sealed with endless locking and silencing charms.

"In the meantime, I thought perhaps you and Draco would care to pick up something for this evening that can't be found at the shops." Lucius spoke again when Ponky slipped back through the kitchen door. "It will give you a chance to explore the woods at the back of the property." He grinned slyly. "Among other things."

_Only Lucius Malfoy would equate exploring the woods with an opportunity for an outdoor orgy. _ Hermione glanced at Draco, who assiduously avoided his wife's gaze.

* * *

After breakfast, Draco and Hermione wasted no time in fleeing the house. The weather was beautiful, clear and warm, and they were both eager for the change of scenery. As they crossed the footbridge over the creek, they paused for a second to admire the day. The leaves were fully turned now, the gold and ochre and orange harmonizing with the lush grass and peaceful azure sky.

"What's the date today?" Hermione asked suddenly.

"It's the 12th of September," Draco replied promptly. "Why?"

"It's nearly my birthday," she mused, almost to herself.

Draco looked startled. "When is your birthday? It never occurred to me to ask."

"The 19th of September." Hermione peered at her husband. "You didn't know?"

"When's my birthday?" Draco demanded, eyes narrowed.

"It's, well, that is, I…erm." Hermione laughed. "I suppose you've got a point."

Draco nodded, satisfied. "It's the 5th of June, by the way." He offered an arm to his wife and they continued over the bridge to the edge of the woods. "So, what would you like for your birthday?"

An extremely dirty picture popped into Hermione's mind, which she forcefully dismissed. "I suppose I'll have to think it over," she said after a few moments. "For now, why don't you tell me what exactly it is we're looking for?"

Draco glanced around, ensuring they were alone before responding. "Snape's found a potion we can use against the Dark Lord and his entire cabal." His voice was low. "It's a judgment potion."

"What does it do?"

"It literally judges whoever drinks it. I have no idea of the specifics, that's what Snape will tell us tonight, but the essential idea is that it weighs the person's evil deeds and thoughts and intentions against the good, and while the person is being judged, they're held in a kind of stasis. The drinker is unaware of what's going on around him, completely frozen." Draco paused for a moment, watching her intelligent brown eyes as she absorbed his words. "If the person is judged to have wrought more good than evil, then he awakes from the stasis and carries on with no ill effects, other than some lost time."

"And if he is judged to be more evil than good?" Hermione asked.

Draco frowned. "He dies."

"Merlin," Hermione breathed. She was pale. There was an unbroken pause that seemed to last several minutes while she digested everything Draco had told her. They had finally reached the edge of the woods. "You still haven't told me what it is we're looking for," she reminded him as they stepped into the dim coolness under the foliage.

"There's a rare flower that grows here," he said, sidestepping a squat, fat toadstool. "Not by accident; the story goes that my great-grandfather Malfoy bought the seeds from a wizard visiting from the Far East and secretly planted them here. They've other uses as well, most of them dark. My great-grandfather used to make a tidy sum on the side as the sole supplier to some of the more…ah…colourful shops in Knockturn Alley." Draco coughed and blushed slightly, which Hermione enjoyed. "Anyway, however they got here, they're one of the key ingredients in this potion."

"What do they look like?" Hermione asked as Draco helped her over a fallen log in their path.

"They're small black flowers on a climbing vine," he described. "They're star-shaped, and the leaves are long and oval." He produced an amber glass jar from the pocket of his robes. "Whatever you do, don't touch them, they're covered in tiny stinging hairs. Use your wand." They were now quite deep into the trees, frequently stepping over large rocks and fallen tree trunks as the path narrowed, then disappeared altogether.

"Why can't they be found in the shops anymore?" Hermione asked as she skirted a large puddle.

"Actually, they can. There are other suppliers now. But my father was determined that we should be alone together." Draco laughed. "Besides, he'll never pay a retail price for something he can get for free, no matter how convenient. He's far too shrewd for that." Hermione mused that it probably wasn't just old money that kept the Malfoys wealthy. She knew they were rich, but it had never occurred to her to ask just _how_ rich.

They were now very deep into the woods. There was only weak and watery sunlight under the huge trees. After several more minutes of searching, Hermione spotted the flowers growing on a vine that clung to the side of a large rock.

"Draco, here!" she yelled. He was at her side at once.

"That's them," he said, sounding satisfied. He handed the jar to Hermione to hold under the vine. Draco severed a few of the flowers with his wand, letting them drop neatly into the jar. "This should be enough." He replaced the lid on the jar and stowed it back in his robes. "Now that we've found a spot where they grow, we can just Apparate here in the future."

"I didn't mind the bushwhacking," Hermione replied. "It was…fun." _And informative,_ she added silently. She had learned that Draco had inherited more than a little of his father's business acumen.

Draco smiled and looked down, feeling awkward.

"You know…I don't want to Apparate. Let's take the long way back," he said.

Hermione and Draco trekked back through the woods in silence. When they caught sight of the house, Hermione asked, "Draco…exactly how rich is your father?"

"How rich is my father? Or how rich am I?" Draco replied. Hermione blushed.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's rude of me to ask."

"Not at all," Draco assured her. "You're my wife; you have a right to know how much personal wealth we have. As for my father, I'm not certain how much he's worth, but I would estimate somewhere in the neighbourhood of twenty million Galleons." He glanced at his wife. "I've gotten a lot of monetary gifts from my parents - and my grandparents, when they were alive – and I invested most of them. Altogether, I'm worth about five million Galleons." He grinned wickedly in Hermione's direction. "You can close your mouth now."

By the time Draco and Hermione returned to the house, the sun had climbed past the zenith. Draco's stomach rumbled audibly as they passed through the dining room on the way to the kitchen.

"Time for lunch, is it?" Hermione reached over and patted his belly, which was a mistake. Even innocent physical contact was enough to make her dizzy.

"So it is." Draco patted his belly himself, tactfully displacing Hermione's hand without touching it. He smiled inwardly when he saw the slight look of disappointment that crossed her face before she had a chance to hide it behind a careful, calm mask. "Why don't you sit down? I'll fetch us something." Before she could object, he pushed through the doors to the kitchen and disappeared, whistling.

Hermione flopped into the nearest chair and blew her bangs out of her eyes. She was hot, sweaty, and more fatigued than she expected. She remembered with a shock that she had not been out of captivity for very long. _It feels like forever ago_,_ but it wasn't,_ she thought. _I suppose I _should _take it easy. _Taking it easy, however, was beginning to have a new and perfectly obscene meaning, at least in Hermione's imagination. They hadn't had any sexual contact since their wedding night, and the constant strain of being celibate since their explosive first encounter was very uncomfortable. Hermione had a vision of lying in the grass in the woods, nude, with an equally nude Draco giving her a full body massage. Well, for starters. The fantasy was just getting good when Draco pushed back through the door carrying a tray with two bowls of butternut squash soup and a plate with buttered bread. He slid into the chair across from Hermione and pushed the tray in her direction. She reached for her bowl, hoping that her face did not betray any of her thoughts.

"So. Plans for this afternoon?" he asked, reaching for a slice of bread.

"Erm…no. I was going to ask you." Hermione stirred her soup. She was sitting with her legs crossed, creating a delicious pressure between her thighs. She rocked forward, ostensibly to reach for a piece of bread, but really seeking to add a new dimension to the sensations running through her core. She felt hot and swollen in the best possible way.

"Nothing to do now but wait for Snape," Draco replied.

_Nothing to do now but each other,_ Hermione thought. She pushed her chair back from the table and rose. Draco looked up in surprise.

"Aren't you hungry? You haven't touched your soup."

Hermione's only response was to take his spoon out of his hand and lay it carefully next to his bowl. Draco's grey eyes widened.

"What are you…" he started, but Hermione stopped him with her mouth. She could taste sweet butter on his lips, which only invited her to kiss him harder. She rucked up the skirt of her robes with one hand and grabbed his hand with the other, guiding his fingers to the wet patch in her underwear. Hermione started grinding against his fingers, only the soaked cotton of her knickers between them.

Draco could feel his resolve slipping away. "Hey. Hey. Just friends, right?" He was so hard he was throbbing. He tried to pull his hand away, albeit not very convincingly.

"No," Hermione said in a throaty voice. "Not just friends." She gripped his hand tighter, forcing his fingers more firmly against her crotch.

In a flash, Hermione was up on the table, her knickers ripped off and discarded on the floor. Draco licked his finger and inserted it a few inches inside her, stroking the curve of her front wall with small, circular motions. Hermione groaned with pleasure. A heavy ache was building where Draco touched her, an ache that sharpened into electric shocks when Draco inserted a second finger. He brought her right to the edge of orgasm, but retreated. Hermione opened her eyes, frowning.

"Why did you stop?" she whined. Draco did not reply. He merely picked her up so she straddled his waist, and actually managed to Apparate to their bedroom without splinching them. He tossed Hermoine playfully onto the bed and leapt up next to her. He had precious little self-control where his wife was concerned; she excited him beyond what he had believed possible.

He was out of his clothes in one moment, sheathed inside her the next. Hermione let out a sigh of pleasure, wrapping herself around him. He slid his hands underneath her and cupped her bottom in his hands, squeezing gently and lifting her pelvis to drive deeper. The angle turned his every movement into fire in her veins. Draco enjoyed the noises she was making very much. He couldn't help moaning when he felt her contract rhythmically around his shaft and heard her cry out sharply as an orgasm swept her away. She began grinding against him harder than ever, and a second, much stronger orgasm rocked her. It was almost too much for Draco; he had to slow down, or it would be all over. He withdrew momentarily and backed off the bed, dragging Hermione by the hips so that her bottom rested on the edge of the mattress. He slid back inside her with infinite slowness, savouring the warm, wet sensation. Just as slowly, he withdrew nearly completely, then thrust himself home again. Hermione lay with her head flung back, her eyes closed, and her mouth slightly open, entirely lost in the moment. Her ivory skin had highlights of rosy pink along her cheeks and chest and she was dewed with sweat. The sight of her pushed him to his limit, and before he could stop it, his own orgasm dropped on him like a bomb.

"I'm sorry!" He panted afterward, gasping for air. "Couldn't…hold back…"

"S'awright," Hermione slurred. She opened one eye lazily and stretched. "Ahhhhhhh. That was wonderful."

Draco bent to place a kiss on the salty skin between her breasts. "We should bathe," he murmured regretfully. "It's almost dinnertime. Snape will be here soon."

Hermione was not at all put out by the idea of a bath, especially not if it meant running her hands over her husband's soapy, wet body. "Meet you in the tub!"


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Hello, darlings. Glad you enjoyed the last chapter. I hope you love this one - There's over 4,500 words here for you! A three-years-long writer's block is quite the obstacle to overcome. Once you're over, it's probably better not to stop. - QnQ

* * *

Chapter 10 – Slow Burn

Hermione, Draco, and Lucius awaited Snape's arrival in the drawing room, listening to a piano serenade from Narcissa. Hermione noticed that Draco closed his eyes to appreciate the music, as did Narcissa, and much to Hermione's amazement the witch played just fine with her eyes shut. She swayed back and forth a little as her slim white fingers danced over the keys, entirely at one with the music.

Hermione envied both her husband and her mother-in-law their musical talents. She also found the very existence of the talent disturbing. It rattled her to see that Draco Malfoy and his family were real people, with complexities like hobbies, talents, affections, regrets, and obligations. The position of an innocent victim attacked by dread evildoers, caught in the epic battle of archetype against archetype, was much easier to digest than shades of grey where she had once seen only blackness. The greyer Draco appeared to her, the more ambiguous her own self-image became. Perhaps the score was closer to even than she had previously thought. It was disorienting.

Next to Hermione, Draco shifted uneasily on the settle and opened his eyes. She always gave off a low hum of mental energy like an electric charge, but her aura had shifted from the intimate, satisfied hum of the afternoon. It now reminded him of the air before a violent thunderstorm.

A rustle of black silk from the doorway caught Hermione's eye, jerking her from her thoughts, and she turned to greet her former Potions Master. His recent treatment of her had extended beyond civility, almost to the realm of affection. He had been there on her wedding day, a stern and sarcastic lifeboat on a sea of emotion. He had been her savior twice at Pansy's horrible wedding. Here he was again, the head double agent on the riskiest undertaking Hermione had ever been involved in, DA included. To her surprise, she was beginning to trust him, and found his presence comforting.

Snape acknowledged her smile with only a slight inclination of head, although she fancied his eyes twinkled when he saw her.

Draco saw it too, and his stomach clenched angrily.

"Snape," Lucius greeted, getting up from the settle in one liquid movement. Narcissa stopped playing and opened her eyes. Snape nodded to them briefly.

"Shall we begin?" he asked.

"Indeed," Lucius replied. "Let's adjourn to the formal dining room." Hermione felt distinctly uncomfortable; she remembered that the Dark Lord held his meetings there. A meeting had not taken place since the wedding, but the room always gave off an infected vibration. It was a place she never would have entered unless compelled.

When they were all settled around one end of the long table, Snape brought a little velvet bag out of his robes and emptied it slowly. First there was a rack that he restored to normal size with a tap of his wand, then four small phials which he lined up with precision upon it. Draco leaned across the table and handed Snape the jar with the black star-flowers, which he placed next to the rack of phials.

"Now," Snape began smoothly, "Here we have the five main ingredients of the Judgment potion." He touched the phials with his wand in turn, removing the charm that made them appear empty.

"Powdered root of asphodel." An innocuous-looking beige-grey powder filled the phial. "Used to achieve the trance-state of the drinker. Also the official cause of death, should the judgment go against him."

"Asphodel poisoning?" Narcissa amplified.

"Indeed." Snape touched the next phial. "Fluxweed, to make the trance state reversible should the judgment favour the drinker." His wand tapped the next phial. "Jobberknoll feathers, to ensure that the totality of a person's deeds are recalled and accounted for." He tapped the last phial, and a single blue-white, opalescent cabochon appeared in the bottom. "Whole moonstone, for balance and fair judgment." One sallow finger touched the lid of the glass jar. "Lastly, _stella nigra_. Black star-flowers. These are used for the physical stasis effect of the potion."

"Where exactly did you find this potion, Severus?" asked Narcissa. "I've not heard of it."

"It is based partially on Draught of Living Death," Snape replied, "but is essentially a potion of my own creation. Research has yielded some incantations to apply whilst brewing to achieve the desired effects. If we use runic magic on the cauldron and brewing instruments, we should be able to make the potion undetectable by any known magic, as well as irreversible. All we need to do is slip the potion into some wine and toast the Dark Lord's health. One sip, and they will all be in stasis. The asphodel will do the rest."

"Provided all goes as planned. No one has ever brewed this potion before, including you. You have no idea if this is actually going to work." Lucius couldn't hide his derision very well. "Perhaps we should be looking at a different option."

Snape sighed in annoyance. "By all means, grace us with some better ideas," he sneered.

"There are five of us and more than thirty of them," Draco put in. "If we're going to take them out, we have to take them out all at once. There's no spell I know of that will accomplish that." He glanced at his Hermione as if to check his facts, but she was watching Snape. "Regardless of the actual outcome of the individual judgments – as though there were any doubt – if any of them do wake, they will find themselves locked in Azkaban." A sneering, predatory grin spread across his face as he spoke. It was exactly the look he'd worn at Hogwarts whenever he looked at Hermione, and her stomach flip-flopped uncomfortably when she saw it. No one spoke for a moment, each pondering the immensity of what they were about to do.

"I will require some books from the Hogwarts library," Snape said at last, "and I will need some materials that I will have to leave Europe to find. I will also require an assistant." His eyes flickered to Hermione.

"Professor," Draco began in clipped tones. "My Potions grades were the top of the House. I would be pleased to assist you in any way I can." Panicked anger swelled within him. There was no earthly way he would allow her to take off for destinations unknown with _Severus Snape. _Not for any length of time. He had trusted his teacher with his life, but Draco could not trust Snape to keep his greasy claws off of Hermione.

"I will need to be away for at least a week gathering materials," Snape replied after a long pause. "We can make excuses to the Dark Lord if I am missing from one or two meetings, but he will become suspicious if we are both absent." Draco scowled. "You also did not take Ancient Runes," Snape continued. "I believe Ms. Granger was top of her class in Ancient Runes." Snape addressed Hermione directly for the first time that evening, his voice low and silky. "If you will grant me your time, I should be most...obliged."

Hermione simply stared at him for a moment as the reality of her situation hit her. She was sitting at a table full of turncoat Death Eaters, and Severus Snape was very quietly and politely asking for her help. She snorted, then snickered, then threw her head back and whooped with laughter. She laughed until her stomach muscles burned, breathing in great heaving gasps, tears streaming out of her eyes. When she finally calmed down, Hermione saw that Lucius was watching her with a trademark raised eyebrow, Draco was glowering at Snape, and Narcissa looked dismayed. Snape stood impassive, his eyes never leaving Hermione's face.

_Stop looking at her like that!_ Draco screamed inside his head.

"Sure," Hermione sniggered. She swiped at her eyes, shoulders still hitching with mirth. "Sure, I'll be your assistant. Why the fuck not?"

* * *

Draco was angry.

Oh, he was so angry.

Directly after their meeting, he excused himself and disappeared from the long table. He flung open the back doors with a bang and stormed out into the garden. "FUCK," he roared. _"FUCK!"_

Blind, incoherent, blistering rage ripped through him. A sudden wind came, ruffling his hair into platinum flames around his head. His blood thundered in his ears. In his fury, he blundered all the way over the creek and into the woods. The trees shuddered and whipped their branches frantically in the wind, as though frightened by his approach.

Draco's anger was such that he was rapidly losing control of his magic. He punched a sapling that stood in his way and it snapped like a quill. He picked up a rock and threw it against a boulder on the path. The rock disintegrated on impact, cracking the surface of the boulder like an egg. His face and knuckles were livid, his pupils so dilated that his eyes looked black.

_You cannot have her. You cannot take her from me. _

He drew his wand in a violent slash across an ancient oak, wishing it were Snape's throat. The tree sparked and ignited where the wand touched it, burned clean through the trunk and fell.

The smell of burning wood shook Draco from his emotional hurricane. When he came back to himself, he was brandishing his wand in his right hand, his left fist balled at his side, head down, chest heaving. The remains of the tree blazed at his feet. It occurred to him that the woods would burn down to nothing if he did not put the fire out. A jet of water from his wand extinguished the flames, leaving only a charred, smoking ruin where the tree had been.

* * *

Hermione and Snape remained seated at the long dining table, planning their movements.

"We will go to Hogwarts first," Snape said. "There are some books in the Restricted Section that will prove helpful."

Hermione swallowed. In the past six days, she had forgotten about the world outside Malfoy Manor. Sitting across from Snape with the phials on the table between them brought the horror back to her full force once again.

Hogwarts had remained closed since the summer of the sneak attack that killed Harry. There was no one to send to school. All of the Muggle-borns that had been found were in the camps or dead. "Blood traitors" such as the Weasleys and the Lovegoods were in Azkaban – or dead. That only left the few purebloods in hiding, and the Death Eaters.

Hermione shivered. She was not looking forward to returning to the scene of Dumbledore's death, to seeing her beloved school empty and silent when it should be bustling with activity. She resolved then and there that once they had got rid of Voldemort and all his minions, Hogwarts would open again. She would see to it.

"When do we begin?" she asked.

"Monday." Snape stood and began gathering his phials. "I will come to collect you promptly at nine o'clock. Please be ready." With that, he was gone in a swirl of black robes.

Monday. She glanced around. The sun was setting; it was Saturday, September 12. She had one day to prepare herself.

* * *

Draco stayed in the woods for ages, sitting on the cracked boulder, just thinking. He had to get this thing sorted out in his head.

What the fuck had happened to him in the past week?

As far as he knew, people fell in love, shagged, _then_ got married. (Or shagged and fell in love afterward, whatever.) Either way, the wedding was supposed to come at the end, not the beginning. Their circumstances were desperate, the pairing unlikely, and the order of events was all wrong – first a wedding, then sex. Was love sure to follow? Draco did not know, but one thing seemed clear – they were past the point of "just friends".

In spite of their acrimonious history, he felt a very strong compulsion to please her. Their interactions were like trying to feed a skittish deer in the woods – hold out the treat, smile, talk in a low, friendly voice, wait. She, stubborn as ever despite her recent experiences, still sought to establish some small measure of control for herself. Draco, on the other hand, did not like to give up control. Not ever.

No, he decided. She aroused his lust, and was decent company as long as she kept a civil tongue, but he could not speak of love, not even to himself – not yet. The connection was too tenuous; it did not bear thinking about. And yet...it drove him mad to think of her alone with Snape, to think of Snape's hands on her…even the possibility left Draco utterly wretched.

He had messed around with attractive girls before, enjoyed the pleasures of their bodies without really giving any part of himself over. He had never been stuck on a girl. In his days as an upperclassman at Hogwarts, Draco could have had whatever service he wanted from anyone he wanted, and often did. Those girls were fun at first, but they all inevitably bored him after a time. Besides, a mouthy know-it-all was not generally his type. So why did the thought of liquid brown eyes make his knees just a little weak?

Their first coupling had been a necessity. It was awkward, but also exciting and good – just as he had always found sex to be with a new partner. Their second time together had been quick and forceful, a clash of wills - she the aggressor until he had wrested power back with his hands and tongue and cock. He had not been able to hold that power long. There was something about her, something refreshing and mysterious that decimated all of his precious self-control. She was sexy. She was brilliant. She was…intoxicating.

_Shit._

* * *

It was very late when Draco returned to the manor. He was chilled and fatigued, the hem of his robes wet with dew. He listened for signs of life, but the house was utterly silent.

He climbed the stairs to their quarters quickly and quietly. His thoughts had stoked the flames of desire. He was not yet erect; for now, his arousal was an entirely mental construct. He felt a great need to connect with the electrifying witch, to burrow into her mind and find himself there. The absence of her was a sharp ache in his consciousness. He was pulled to her, compelled to find her and be subsumed. For the second time that night, Draco was rapidly losing control of his magic. This time, however, the effects were entirely different. His cheeks flushed and his hair fell forward, his pupils dilating until it almost appeared they were _larger_ than his irises. His heart rate increased; his senses sharpened, becoming excruciatingly acute. He could almost smell her.

_Hermione. _

Her name echoed through his mind unbidden.

_Hermione._

Every heartbeat was her name.

_Hermione!_

He paused in the shadows outside their bedroom door, which was open. She had nodded off while sitting up in bed with an Ancient Runes textbook. She lay propped up on her back with her left hand holding the book open against her chest, her right hand curled loosely at her side. Her glorious hair flowed loosely over the pillows, limned in angelic gold where the lamplight struck the curls. She was wearing a loose, black night robe of fine satin. The slippery fabric contrasted sharply against her alabaster skin.

The light was hurting his eyes; his enlarged pupils made everything in his field of vision fuzzy, the colours distorted. Draco waved his wand at the lamp and the flame instantly lowered. That was better; he could see her more clearly now.

The expression on her face was not peaceful – a deep frown creased her forehead and turned down the corners of her delicate mouth. Even in sleep, her electric mental presence was strong. His senses buzzed with her energy, his breath rasping in his throat. He reached out and touched her hand, then backed away as though she had burned him, stunned.

Even in sleep, her complex mind was working on the judgment potion. When he touched her, Draco could _feel_ her thinking. "Hear" or "see" would have been the wrong words. It was pure emotion. He felt the mental stretch of working on a new problem, recognized it from his own study sessions: that feeling of being just slightly beyond one's comfort zone with a subject, the anxiety that comes before the satisfaction of understanding. He felt it as acutely as his own desire to invade her consciousness. It went beyond empathy – it was as though he had temporarily slipped into her skin, although the effect faded when he broke physical contact.

As far as he knew, he had never been empathic, but he thought was crowded out by desperate disappointment that she was not dreaming of him. The potion was intimately connected with Snape, and jealously clouded his mind once more. His gut lurched as his eyes raked over Hermione's sleeping form. He wanted to imprint himself on her mind, to fill her up so that there was neither room nor need for anyone else. He was a man possessed; in return, he would possess her utterly.

Slowly, gently, he pulled the book from her grasp and let it drop to the ground with a soft thud. She woke with a mild start, then sat up quickly when she saw the state of the wizard sitting next to her on the bed.

"Draco, what is it?" she mumbled sleepily, pushing curls out of her face and peering at him in the semi-darkness. She took in his dilated pupils, his rapid, ragged breathing, and the intense look on his face, and her stomach dropped with fear. "Draco? What's going on?"

He caressed her face with his fingertips, feathering them across her lips with ultimate gentleness. The instant they touched, she gasped. The otherworldly connection between them flared like a struck match. She could feel his desire for her.

He could feel her anxiety, her uncertainty. He dove deeper, testing her feelings toward him. They were not exactly warm, but neither were they reproachful. She was resigned to her fate. And yet, there was something more – a profoundly sexual curiosity.

For Hermione's part, she could feel Draco's deep and desperate longing to connect with her, to leave some artifact of himself buried in her consciousness. There was so much loneliness and doubt, and beneath it all, that same driving sexual curiosity she felt for him.

Her heartbeat began to quicken as his fingers stroked her mouth, leaving shivers behind that ran down to her belly and made it flip-flop in anticipation. She had not felt this deep connection to him in their previous encounters, physical or otherwise, and to her surprise, it made her burn for more. His hand moved to fondle her neck beneath her hair, his eyes never leaving hers. His touched thrummed through her body like the vibration of a guitar string. Hermione felt her nipples harden expectantly, and could not help closing her eyes when his fingers stroked a particularly delicious spot behind her ear, letting her head fall back to hit the pillows. She arched her back and let out a kittenish mew of pleasure.

Draco bent his head to kiss her just under her ear. He nipped and licked at the tender flesh there, enjoying her musky-sweet scent. His hand could not resist drifting down to cup her breast through the smooth satin of her night robe, weighing her sweet white flesh in his hands and pinching the nipple until she groaned and arched into his palm. He pushed aside the night robe gently, exposing her rose-tipped breasts, then lay himself by her side and began worshiping them with his mouth. He circled her right nipple with his tongue and nibbled slightly. Shivery fire streaked from Hermione's breast to her scalp. He repeated the same procedure on her left nipple, eliciting another mew that made him throb. Achingly slowly, he trailed kissed from between her breasts down to the apex of her thighs, settling himself at last between her legs. His hands came up around her waist and undid the tie-belt of the robe, then spread it open to reveal her naked body. He could not suppress a soft moan at the sight of her milky skin, vulnerable and open, willing.

Hermione shifted herself so she was lying squarely beneath him, her knees hanging loosely to the side, awaiting his ministrations. Draco's platinum head dipped and he sucked her clitoris into his mouth. His hands held her hips firmly, forcing her down, although she bucked and squirmed in an attempt to get closer to the sensations rocketing through her core. She twined her fingers in his feather-soft hair, pressing his face greedily to her most intimate region. Her musky scent was more intense here, and he moaned again, inhaling deeply. He dipped his tongue tentatively inside her, was rewarded with a rolling groan, and searched deeper, caressing and tasting. His finger slipped in to join his tongue, working circles in opposite directions, driving Hermione rapidly to the point of no return. Just as she was about to come, he pulled away. The absence of him made her open her eyes, and she was greeted with the sight of his hands on his belt buckle, just waiting.

Hermione pounced. She tore his hands away from his belt buckle, undoing it and his flies as fast as she possibly could. His member popped out, erect and ready for her, a pearl of moisture at the tip. Tentatively, she stuck out her tongue and licked the bead of moisture from the tip of his cock, savouring the viscous, salty fluid. The sight and feel of her merging with the sensations he felt through their unusual psychic connection was driving his desire to a fever pitch, but the only urgency he felt was the urgency to be completely naked; he wanted to drag out this ecstasy as long as possible. Grabbing his wand, Draco magicked the rest of their garments off and Banished them to a corner.

He was so beautiful, kneeling above her like a terrible angel. Hermione leaned forward again and took his cock deep into her mouth. He was large and she had to open her jaw wider than was strictly comfortable, but the taste of him was so satisfying that she couldn't help but moan; the vibration echoed in his mind and body and he hissed, twitching with pleasure in her mouth. She took him as deep as she could, then withdrew quickly, swirling her tongue up over his head as she did, then plunged back down eagerly. Draco let out a long, shuddering groan as she swept up and began sucking on the head of his cock, massaging with her lips and spreading the moisture that welled from the slit in his tip. His own voice sounded foreign in his ears, and he realized it was because he was also hearing it echo in Hermione's mind, intensifying her arousal.

Just when he thought he would explode, she broke contact and pushed him down onto the bed on his back. She crouched above him and slid slowly onto his cock with a sobbing sigh, then flexed her thighs to bring herself upwards again. He relished the warm, wet clench along his length, unbelievably soft and slick. Draco reached up and circled her nipples with his thumbs as Hermione braced herself with a hand on either side of his torso, bouncing up and down as though she were riding horseback, posting in the saddle. Her hair hung down in a maple-coloured curtain around him, isolating the two of them in their own intimate world; granite-coloured eyes bored into warm brown ones, speaking secrets that could never be articulated in words. Understanding and desire flowed along their locked gaze. Whatever they had been to one another, wherever they would wander on this crazy path – they were going to see it out together. They were so intimately connected, there were no longer two people in the bed. They were one body, one soul – warmth and light, cool silky darkness, merged and commingled into one living entity. There was no consumption, only endless genesis – the creative chaos of complete opposites.

They rolled so that Draco was cradling her slender body in his arms, then again so that she was kneeling in front of him, her backside round, her sex open to him from behind. He gripped her hips in his hands and thrust himself into her. The change in angle intensified the sensations for both of them, and he knew it would not be long now. There was still no sense of urgency, just the feeling that dissolution was bearing down on them, not to be deterred or denied. Draco thrust into Hermione with increasing rapidity, their flesh slapping together rhythmically in the darkened room. She cried out suddenly, and he could feel her contracting and shivering inside, coming and coming in long, shaking waves. She milked the seed from his cock; he burst inside her, filling her with his essence.

* * *

Afterward, they lay face-to-face, simply breathing the same air and luxuriating in the presence of the other. A deep peace had finally settled over them both, blanketing them in the quiet bliss of belonging. The world was very, very far away just now – the glow of their union had driven it out.

"Hermione…"

"Yes?" She stroked his cheek.

"Do you think you could ever…love me?"

She regarded him for a long moment.

"I think…I think I already do."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Hello, lovelies. See, I told you I wouldn't stop now, it's flowing like water. Thanks for your favourites and reviews. This chapter would have been up much earlier, but I had no time to write at all last week until Friday night. This next chapter is a little shorter than the previous one, but it was emotionally exhausting to write and it seemed to come to a natural close, so I decided not to force it.

A few of you were really touched by the final lines between Draco and Hermione in Chapter 10, so I thought you might be interested to know that that moment is actually pulled from my own life. When I met my husband, I was warned by no fewer than three people that he was going to break my heart. I decided to just enjoy it for as long as it lasted; I barely had a heart left to give away, anyhow. A few weeks later, he and I were lying face-to-face just as in Chapter 10, and I was thinking something along the lines of: "Fuck, fuck, fuck. I'm falling in love. I can't ever say it. I won't scare him away. I just want to make it last…"

At that very moment, he asked me the question that changed my whole life. I couldn't help but tell the truth. -QnQ

* * *

**Chapter 11 – One Damn Thing After Another**

"**When you start to develop your powers of empathy and imagination, the whole world opens up to you." – Susan Sarandon**

When Hermione awoke, it was very late in the morning, and she was alone. There was a Draco-shaped indentation in the sheets next to her, but they were cold to the touch. Wrapping her night robe around her and knotting the belt at her waist, she stumbled first to the loo, and then to the sitting room.

Draco was sitting with his back to their bedroom, hunched over on the settle with his arm braced on his lap. He was still completely naked, shivering from cold – or was it agony? – and sweating at the same time.

"Draco!" Hermione gasped. He looked up, and the unimaginable pain in his eyes made her sink to her knees in horror, kneeling in front of his face. "Draco, what is it?" she whispered.

"It hurts," he choked out. "Oh, gods, Hermione, it hurts!" His voice broke on the last word, tears streaming down his cheeks. Hermione gasped when she saw his Dark Mark. It was _writhing_ beneath his skin, as though parasitic worms had burrowed into his flesh.

"Is it…him?" she managed through frozen lips.

"No." Draco gritted his teeth. "It's…not the…same." He was sobbing, shivering, barely able to speak through the shudders. "It's…when he's coming…it burns." He gasped for breath. "It feels…like…it's trying to….crawl…"

"Out of your skin," Hermione finished. He nodded spastically, his lips pressed together so hard they were white. "Draco, tell me what to do."

"S-Snape," he ground out. "Get me Snape!"

Hermione dashed to the fireplace, flung a handful of Floo power into it from the pot on the mantle, and screamed, _"SEVERUS SNAPE!"_

A few moments later, a greasy black head appeared within the green flames. Snape looked annoyed and opened his mouth to say something, but then Hermione stepped out of his line of sight and he saw Draco. In a flash, he emerged full-bodied from the fireplace, wand drawn, and rushed to Draco's side.

"What's happened?" he asked brusquely.

"He says…" Hermione shuddered. "He says it's trying to crawl out of his skin."

Snape braced his wand against the writhing flesh of Draco's arm and muttered a long, sing-song spell - the same spell he had used to heal Draco's wounds after Potter attacked him with a well-aimed _Sectumsempra_ in the lavatory at Hogwarts. After many long moments – during which Hermione barely breathed – the Dark Mark began to calm slightly, although it still wriggled like live bait.

"I will return." Snape swirled back to the fireplace and disappeared in a flare of emerald fire. Hermione crawled in front of Draco on hands and knees, peering up under the rumpled blonde hair to his face. He was still extremely pale, his eyes shimmering with pain, but he was calmer. Snape was back within minutes, carrying a phial that Hermione recognized as Dreamless Sleep potion. He gave it to Draco wordlessly, who swallowed it without question. Within moments, he was fast asleep, still sitting up.

"Hermione." Snape's velvet voice was deadly serious. "Get dressed. When you are ready, I will be in the library." With that, he strode to the door and exited quickly.

Hermione threw on her favourite blue robes, jamming her wand frantically into the hidden pocket inside and running her fingers through her wild curls. She Levitated Draco to their bed and covered him snugly with the coverlet before leaving, pausing to kiss his clammy forehead.

* * *

When she arrived in the Library, Snape was pacing back and forth with his hands behind his back, looking very worried indeed. His black eyes were snapping and his mouth was set in a grim white line.

"Hermione, I need you to tell me exactly what has happened to Draco."

She stared back at him, aghast. "I…I…what?" she stammered. "I thought you would know."

"I have an idea, but I need to ask you some very personal questions, and when you answer, you have to tell me everything." He paused and gripped her upper arms tightly, peering into her face as though he could read her answers there. "Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded mutely and gulped.

"What happened last night after I left?"

"I…he was just gone." She shook her head. "I have no idea where he went. I went to bed with a book on Ancient Runes, and when I woke up he was…" Hermione trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence. A furious blush spilled across her cheeks. "He was…we…"

Snape cocked an eyebrow. "Everything, Miss Granger." His use of her former title had its desired effect. Hermione drew herself up to her full height and stared him squarely in the eye.

"We shagged." She scowled at her former Potions Master. "Happy?"

Snape did not flinch. "And?"

"And _what?_" Hermione snapped. Did he expect a play-by-play? It wasn't a bloody Quidditch match!

Snape frowned. "Was he…different in any way?"

Hermione paused. Yes, he had been different. "He was… intense. And his eyes…" What the hell had been wrong with his _eyes_?

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"They…his eyes were just dilated, that's all. He almost looked like he was high on…something." For once in her life, words were failing her. She sank onto the piano bench.

"Was anything different for you?" Snape asked quietly, coming to sit beside her.

"Yes," she whispered, her eyes wide and far away as she remembered. "It was like…it was like he was inside my skin." A long silence stretched between them. Snape jumped up and resumed pacing.

"How much do you know about empathic magic?" he finally asked.

"Not very much. I know that it's wandless, and that not everybody can do it," Hermione replied slowly. She watched him as he came to rest in the centre of the room, his hands clasped behind his back. "I know that empaths can literally feel what other people are feeling."

"It goes a great deal deeper than that," Snape said, his silky baritone now almost a whisper. "Empathic magic is the oldest and most powerful of all elemental magic. An empath does not just feel the emotions of another; he literally _merges his life force with another_. The potential ability is present in only a very small portion of the Wizarding population, and it does not always manifest." He paused, searching her face. She was fiercely intelligent, and he enjoyed watching the play of emotions across her features as she pondered the meaning of his words; first, a frown of deep thought, followed by shock, and finally, a look of wonder.

"I believe Draco is experiencing the awakening of his own empathic abilities. In the beginning, it is much like the accidental magic you might remember from childhood, and it can trigger similar...incidents. Empathic magic is the exact opposite of the sort of magic used in created horcruxes and the like. The ability is usually triggered by a profoundly positive event in the empath's life. Most empaths are women, and most experience their empathic awakening during the birth of their first child."

"So if it's a life-affirming force…gods! You mean to tell me his body is _rejecting_ his Dark Mark?" she breathed. "But what -"

"Miss Granger," Snape interrupted with a sigh, "for an insufferable know-it-all, you really are quite daft."

* * *

Snape left several hours later, leaving behind several potions and instructions for Hermione on how to care for Draco. There was actually very little to be done, other than wait for the empathic magic to naturally do…well, whatever it was going to do. Snape was not sure exactly what was going to happen to Draco's Dark Mark, so he left behind some potions to help with pain and anxiety, as well as another few phials of Dreamless Sleep. He had also pulled a few volumes on empathic magic from the library's shelves for Hermione, and she was anxious to mine as many data as she could from them.

Draco was still asleep when she pushed open the door to their room. Hermione set her armload of books and phials on the nightstand and pulled the curtains tighter against the late afternoon sun. Among his other instructions, Snape had advised Hermione to nurture the development of the empathic magic in every way possible, which left little doubt as to his real meaning. It wasn't a hardship for Hermione, especially after their most recent encounter. While they had not come right out and declared love for each other, it seemed they had reached a new understanding. A very deep connection was growing between them; the lion was lying down with the snake. She found herself wondering just how much Draco's empathic magic was affecting her. Perhaps it would explain the compulsion she felt to be near him in spite of their long and storied past, her willingness to forgive him all wrongs if he would just hold her and touch her face and look into her eyes. According to Snape, she was the reason Draco's abilities had awakened…

_Touch him as often as you can,_ he had said. _Physical contact will facilitate the use of his abilities. However, he may not be able to control them. Be cautious._

Hermione drew her wand. Cautious, indeed. _"Incarcerous!" _

* * *

Draco woke with a start. He was bound at the wrists and ankles, still completely naked, and he was blindfolded.

"What the fuck?" he yelled, jerking at his bonds so hard the headboard rattled_. "What the fuck!"_ For a moment, he thought it was all over; then there were soft, familiar lips pressed against his. Overwhelming relief flowed through him, followed by puzzlement, and growing annoyance that she had scared the piss out of him. _What is she doing? _

Tiny, soft hands slipped behind his head, holding him steady as she kissed him. There was a warm weight pressing his torso into the mattress, and he realized she was straddling him, still wearing her silky blue robes. His cock twitched. She had him at her mercy, and he liked it. She licked his lower lip and he growled with lust, nipping back at her. "What are you doing?" Draco whispered against Hermione's mouth.

"Today did not go the way I planned," she purred back. "I have to go to Hogwarts tomorrow. I wanted to spend today in bed, reading that Ancient Runes book." She took his earlobe between her teeth, making him gasp and arch his back. "Until you distracted me, that is." Little nips and sucks trailed from behind his ear to his collarbone.

"I'm so dreadfully sorry to have ruined your plans," he gasped, shivering as she circled one of his nipples with her tongue. "But you have to admit, you get horny at the strangest times." His words were almost lost in a moan as she scraped her teeth over the sensitive flesh, then bit down lightly. He was just about to make a filthy request when they were interrupted by the sound of the door to their quarters opening with a bang.

"Draco!" Narcissa's voice was unnaturally high, thin, panicked.

"Finite incantatem!" Hermione whispered, releasing Draco from his bonds.

"Fucking worst timing _ever_," he growled.

Hermione shushed him and slipped out to the receiving room to find her mother-in-law pacing back and forth before the fireplace, her angel's face crumpled with worry. "Narcissa, what is it?"

"Oh, Hermione!" Narcissa flung her arms around the younger witch's neck. "The Dark Lord is here. He has summoned you and Draco to the formal dining room. He wants to meet you."

Hermione's face drained of colour. Her first thought was that she needed to get every memory of the judgment potion out of her mind. Snape had warned them all to remove any trace of it before the Death Eater meetings. Neither Hermione nor Draco was very good at Occlumency, and in his current state, he was much more likely than usual to give them away. She grabbed the wand from her pocket and raised the tip to her temple, pulling out long, silvery-white memories and placing them in Draco's empty Dreamless Sleep phial.

"Draco!" Narcissa called again. He appeared a moment later, shrugging into the outer robe of his usual all-black attire. He had Hermione's anti-werewolf charm in his hand.

"I heard you." He strode to his wife, affixing the charm around her neck. He saw the phial full of memories and with shaking hands, he dumped the other phial of Dreamless Sleep into a glass and used the empty phial to store his own memories. Once the phial was corked and put in the rack, he turned to Hermione and took her face between his hands, Narcissa looking on worriedly. He did not have words; his thumbs stroked her rose-petal cheeks softly, over and over.

* * *

"Ahh, Draco. Do join us." Voldemort waved one claw-like hand from the head of the table. "I see you have brought your consort to meet your master at last. Really, Draco, I was most put out not to be invited to the wedding." Bellatrix led the titter that ran around the table. "Come here, Mrs. Malfoy. Let me…look more closely at you." He waved his wand at her and she felt herself moving against her will to the head of the table. "Make yourself comfortable, Draco." Another wave of his hand and magic forced Draco into an empty seat with a slam.

Voldemort pushed Hermione's chin up with the back of his icy hand and brushed the curls out of her eyes with his wand. Hermione stared somewhere over his shoulder, refusing to meet the hellish red eyes.

"Ah, she is lovely," he crooned, leaning in to sniff her hair delicately. Hermione willed herself not to cringe. _Godric give me strength,_ she thought. He smelled like an open grave. "Forgive me, Mrs. Malfoy. You are passing fair to look at, but your blood smells…dirty." The Death Eaters roared with laughter, except for Snape (who never laughed) and Greyback, who stared and licked his chops. Voldemort circled her slowly, looking her up and down. Without warning, he pointed his wand at Hermione's head and shouted, _"Legilimens!" _

Hermione gasped. She could feel an ice-cold, venomous presence inside her mind, riffling her thoughts and emotions. Intimate images of Draco flashed through her mind, and to her great embarrassment she could do nothing to stop the Dark Lord from accessing whatever he wished. Cold laughter echoed in her ears. He dove deeper into her psyche, unearthing all the pictures she had from her time with Harry and Ron at Hogwarts, her Muggle parents – her whole life.

"I see she serves you…adequately, Draco. She must – how else could you stand to touch such a filthy creature?" He paused in front of Hermione, grabbed her face and forced her gaze to his. "I suppose she is just the proper mate for you. You can scarcely hold your head up high, Draco, after you failed me so spectacularly in the task I set you." Releasing Hermione's face, he whirled on Draco. "_CRUCIO!" _

Draco collapsed from his chair, writhing on the floor with gritted teeth. He would not scream. He _refused_ to scream. Oh, how he hated Voldemort. The evil bastard had robbed him of a normal childhood, of happy memories of his school, of his innocence. He would not give him the satisfaction of hearing him scream. Blistering, searing pain racked his body, and he could not help grunting when a new wave rocked him, but he did not scream. When it was over, he lay panting on the floor, pressing his forehead to the cool marble and choking on his breath.

"However, it is of no consequence." His enormous snake joined Voldemort as he walked slowly from Hermione's side to where Draco lay. "My loyal servant Severus has cleaned up your mess to my satisfaction.

"I remember your wife, Draco. She is Potter's little Mudblood whore, is she not?" He raised his wand in Hermione's direction and cast the Cruciatus once more. A shrill scream rent the air. "Answer me!"

"Yes, my Lord," Draco choked. He watched as his wife thrashed and screamed while Voldemort trained his wand on her, panic and agony swelling within him. He hated the sniveling tone in his own voice. "Please, my Lord –"

"Yes, Draco?" Hermione collapsed in a shivering heap on the floor.

"Please stop," he begged, his voice barely above a whisper.

"And why should I do that?" She screamed again as a fresh curse slammed into her body. Draco's heart was breaking.

"_BECAUSE I LOVE HER!" _

Laughter rocked the room. Voldemort sneered and threw Hermione across the room with a flick of his wand. She hit the wall with a dull thud, slid to the floor and lay very still. Draco raced to her side.

"Aww, lookit widdle Dwaco, wunning to help his Mudblood lover!" Bellatrix shrieked in her idiotic, sing-song baby voice.

"You disgust me. Take your slut and get out of my sight. _NOW!_" Voldemort roared. Tears rolling down his face, Draco managed to hoist Hermione into his arms. He fled the formal dining room for the relative safety of their quarters.

* * *

She was floating. There was a loud rushing noise in her ears, and she was floating.

She was in shock. Her vision was ringed with darkness and the rushing noise in her ears drowned out all sound and coherent thought.

"Hermione?" Draco's wet hand brushed the hair back from her forehead. His voice was soft and gentle. It sounded so unlike the Malfoy she remembered of old. But her head was not connected to her body and it was all so far away…

"Are you all right?" he managed. He was cradling her against his chest in their bathtub, weeping softly, his tears dripping into the warm, fragrant water around them. The water soothed the ache in her bones. He was kissing her, blanketing her neck, her shoulder and her ear in kisses.

"I love you too," she mumbled into his breast.

* * *

"…didn't know what else to do…"

"It's fine. I can help her." Snape pushed his way into their bedchamber. "Have you given her back her memories yet?"

"No," Draco said. He plucked a phial from the rack and handed it to Snape, who proceeded to use his wand to put the memories back in Hermione's mind. Draco transferred the memories in the other phial to his own temple, then frowned. Something was very wrong.

He had a memory of watching his mother playing piano – and feeling guilty. And watching himself with his eyes closed, but that was impossible. He remembered laughing like a lunatic at a stupid moment and feeling like an idiot, except that was impossible too, because it wasn't Draco who had laughed. Then he came across the one that punched him in the gut. A conversation with Snape.

"…_He was…intense…"_

"…_oldest and most powerful of all elemental magic..."_

"…_rejecting his Dark Mark…"_

"What the fuck?" he whispered through numb lips. Snape was busy feeding Hermione some sort of potion and did not hear him. Draco rolled up the sleeve of his robes; in all the hysteria, he had not looked closely at his left forearm. He had forgotten that it was supposed to be hurting.

His Dark Mark was no longer writhing, but instead of being crisply black against his ivory skin, it looked blurred and diluted, as though it had been inked on parchment and then had water dripped on it.

"Merlin," he breathed. His thoughts were racing. _That's why I didn't feel him coming. That's why I didn't know he was here until Mum almost walked in on us._

"Draco," Hermione piped up suddenly from the pillows. Her voice was hoarse. "That _poor_ tree!"


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: After that last, I think the following chapter is an appropriate reward. It's Thanksgiving here in Canada, so let me take this moment to say that I am thankful for everyone who reads, reviews, and adds me to a story alert or favourites list. It truly gives me a buzz. Now, let's have some fun, shall we? I think you'll enjoy this chapter, and since I'm a cheeky little git, I decided to call it…

* * *

Chapter 12 – Lemonade

"I know a few things about love. Horrible, terrible, awful, awful things." – Andy, _The Office_

Given the hectic nature of their frightful Sunday the thirteenth, Severus and Hermione left off their visit to Hogwarts for one more day. Everyone needed a chance to recover. So it came to pass that Monday found Hermione Jean (Granger) Malfoy sleeping in until eleven o'clock in the morning. When she woke, she was rolled on her left side with her cheek pillowed on her clasped hands, and Draco was leaning on his side and watching her with a closed expression on his face. His eyes were stormy, but he didn't look sad or angry, at least not as far as she could tell.

"I've been reading." His voice was low and husky. He traced small circles in the sheet with his left forefinger as he spoke, answering her unasked question. "After we accidentally switched memories, I couldn't sleep, so I started to read about empathic magic."

"And?" Hermione reached out to touch his face softly with the backs of her fingers. She was instantly rewarded with a pulse of emotional energy in the centre of her head. It felt quite melancholy, for someone who had just discovered he possessed a very rare and precious gift. She let her hand drop.

"It's supposed to be something like one in five hundred thousand witches and wizards who have the gene, and out of that, seventy-eight percent of them are women. And only about twenty percent of all people with the gene ever actually develop empathic abilities." He was not normally good at remembering random facts, but he _was_ good with numbers. "That means that in a Wizarding population of, say, twenty million, forty people will have the gene. Thirty-one of them will be female, nine will be male, so if only twenty percent of the people with the gene actually manifest their powers, that means one – _maybe_ two – male empaths in _twenty million_."

Hermione's head was swimming by the third numerical figure in his monologue, but she caught the last thing he said.

"Holy Jesus."

Draco looked puzzled. "What's a Jesus?"

Hermione started to laugh and made a flippant gesture. "Never mind. It would take too long to explain."

"Anyway," Draco continued with a frown, "supposedly I'll have the ability to do things I couldn't before. For one thing, I'm starting to be able to see auras." He squinted at her. "It's annoying."

"What else?" she asked, intrigued.

"I can heal people, supposedly. Or I will be able to, presuming I can figure out how to control the bloody thing in the first place." Draco flopped onto his back with a sigh and stared at the ceiling. "And, of course, there's the whole soul-merging…thing. Every time I touch somebody, I'm going to be able to feel what they're feeling, and apparently, they will be able to sense me. It's kind of like mind-reading, but it's not the same as Legilimency. Supposedly I can learn to control it so I'll only have to do it if I want to, but for now, I just need to be careful about whom I touch." He rolled to face her again.

"Definitely," Hermione agreed. They were silent for a moment, both thinking of the things that had transpired between them the night before, as well as the switched memories. Even though Draco had quickly traded back memories with her, his recollections had been in her mind long enough to make engrams of their own. She could not get the twisted wreck of the tree out of her mind's eye.

"Draco-"

"I need to know-"

"Go ahead."

"No, you."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Why did you kill that poor tree?"

His eyes flicked guiltily away from hers and he stiffened. "I was…angry. I didn't really do it on purpose. I was just angry. You should already know this, anyway. You saw the memory." He frowned at her. "Do you know what I was going to ask you?"

"You were going to ask me how I feel about Snape," she replied softly, and saw the confirmation flash in his eyes. He reached out and laid the palm of his left hand against the side of her neck, lowering his head in concentration, and as Hermione stared at the jagged part in his sleep-rumpled hair, wave after wave of emotion crashed over her. The first, to her surprise, was regret – deep, genuine regret over the things that had transpired at Hogwarts. He wasn't sure if it would work, but Draco called up a memory of watching her at the Yule Ball during fourth year and attempted to telegraph it to her. Her answering gasp told him that she had received his message. She had looked so beautiful, and the whole memory was infused with wistful longing and regret that he could not have asked her to dance. He showed her the fantasy he had conjured for himself instead, of the two of them being silly and showing off for his friends – the way he wished things could have gone.

He felt, rather than heard, her questioning thought. _How long have you loved me?_

"Ever since you punched me in the face." His voice was fond and dreamy as his hand dropped from her neck. "I've had my fill of simpering hangers-on. You know, birds like Pansy. You, on the other hand, couldn't give a fuck about pureblood status, wealth, or anything that my bloody father 'heard about' from me." Draco shook his head and laughed shortly. "No matter what I did, you were never scared of me, and it really turned me on."

"I'm a Gryffindor," she replied loftily. "We don't _do_ scared."

"Yes, you do," he corrected. "You just don't let it stop you."

The corner of Hermione's mouth twitched. "That's true," she conceded.

"I envy you. Gods, I envy you that." Draco's lip curled in a snarl as he thought of his tendency to blubber like a schoolgirl with a skinned knee when he was scared. It was the thing he hated most about himself.

"You should try it sometime. Not letting fear hold you back, I mean." She grinned. "It's never too late to stop giving a fuck." They laughed for a moment, but fell silent quickly.

"Seriously, though. How… how do you feel about Snape?" he asked after a long pause. His voice was shaking. He placed his hand back on her neck, and she could feel the deep jealousy in his heart. She was shocked by it, and a little flattered. Hermione considered for a moment.

"He's become my friend, odd as that sounds," she murmured.

Draco snorted his agreement. "I know what you mean. I'll be buggered if he doesn't always turn up when I need him."

"He does have a way of…getting through the cracks in things." Draco smiled wryly. "Oh, wait. Slytherin," she laughed.

"Precisely." Draco didn't find it quite as funny as Hermione did, perhaps because he knew exactly what it meant to be a Slytherin who wanted something he couldn't have. ."He watched her face carefully when he asked his next question. "So, you 're not in love with him, then? Because I think _he's_ in love with _you_."

Hermione snorted and glanced away. "That's ridiculous."

"I've seen the way he looks at you." Draco's stomach lurched at the memory. "_I'm_ the only one who gets to look at you like that," he muttered.

"So look at me like that." She moved so her forehead was touching his and stared into his eyes. Who was this man, Hermione found herself wondering yet again. Who could possibly have so much good inside him and yet have done so many horrible – even _evil_ – things? She had forgotten that the physical contact meant he could sense her thoughts.

His voice startled her. "I have no idea who I am anymore."

"Then be somebody new." The words tumbled from her lips before she realized she had thought them. He rolled over her suddenly, buried his hands in her hair, and cradled her head very gently in his palms while he kissed her deeply. They had slept naked, and soon she could feel his desire, hard and warm against her thigh. He tried very hard to convey his complex feelings through their joined lips. There was deep satisfaction of years-long yearning in that kiss; also a little bit of fear, and some possessiveness.

In return, Hermione was trying desperately to send him her message of acceptance. Once he actually admitted to loving her, it was a simple thing to confess her feelings for him as well, even though she knew they made no rational sense. Did love ever make sense?

_Don't look for reason in madness,_ her father's voice reminded her from a corner of her memory. She felt a stab of grief at the thought of her absent parents, Obliviated and living in Australia. Draco felt it too and broke the kiss.

"We will bring them back," he mumbled against her mouth. His hand stroked her hair. "When this is all over and it's safe, we'll bring them home."

"I hope we can undo the spells. I hope I can _find_ them. My parents, I mean, not the spells." She resisted the urge to flap her hands in agitation.

He kissed her again. "You're dithering." _Give it over already,_ he thought at her. _Let's just be away from all of it, just for a little while. _He ran his tongue along her lower lip – he knew it would drive her mad - and plunged it into her mouth when she moaned a little. His hand stroked idly down her arm, then moved to tweak her nipple lightly. She made another noise that he quite enjoyed, so he rolled the flesh more firmly between his thumb and forefinger. She gasped.

"Just making sure you're paying attention." Draco grinned down at her, then slid down to cup her bottom in his hands and lifted her pelvis to his face.

* * *

_He was dreaming of Lily again._

_For some reason, he was dreaming lucidly this time. It was always one of a handful of scenes, and he recognized that he was dreaming and this was the dream where they were lying under the willow tree. It was different, though. In these dreams, he was always a child again. This time, he was an adult - dressed in his teaching robes, of all things. The weeping willow draped its branches all around them like a lazy boater trailing his fingers in a river. Between branches, the sky was endlessly, cloudlessly blue._

"_Severus." He turned his head to look at her, because the voice was wrong. It wasn't a girl's voice anymore. It was a woman's voice, and it didn't sound quite right. _

_It was _her. _And she was wearing those damned blue robes again._

"_Severus," she said again in a breathy voice, caressing his face from temple to jaw with one lazy finger to make him turn his face to hers. "Kiss me." Dandelion seeds drifted past like dizzy ballerinas on the air._

"_This is wrong," he said tonelessly. He could not stop looking at her mouth, quirked in a wry, sexy grin, just inches from his own. She did not reply, just kept getting closer and closer… _

Severus Snape jerked awake with a brutal headache. In all of his thirty-eight years, he had never quite had a headache _this_ bad. He rarely took any of his own concoctions, not being a fan of chemical intervention when only rest or – at absolute most - wand magic was required; but by five o'clock on Monday morning, he was swallowing a double dose of his own Headache Draught.

He leaned over his lavatory sink and peered at himself in the mirror. He had never been an overly attractive man in the traditional sense, although he had been trying to take better care of himself lately. He didn't know why. Maybe it was _her_. Damn her with her liquid brown eyes and buttercream skin. She always smelled sweetly of vanilla sugar, and he had to fight the perverse urge to run his tongue up her throat whenever she came near him.

And then there was her hair. It had grown over the years into a beautiful mess of thick spiral curls and looser, wavier bits that tumbled down her back in shining waves of maple and gold, streaked through with the odd flash of spice-coloured silk. It reminded him of a mermaid's hair; not the real ones, evil-looking fish-like beings that swam in the Black Lake, but the mythological Lorelei of old.

The entire sodding business didn't bear thinking about. Firstly, she was barely half his age. Secondly, she was another man's wife. Oh, he was well aware. And yet there was something about her. Somewhere along the way, he had gone from reviling her as a know-it-all to appreciating her vast intellect, from being annoyed by her stubbornness to admiring her tenacity. She had a great thirst for knowledge that he shared, and a confident fire about her that he envied. As annoying as her outbursts of emotion could be, she was also endearing in her awkward moments. And when had she become beautiful? She'd fixed her buck teeth after that unfortunate incident with _Densaugeo, _but when had her features had grown elfish and delicate? Though she was still thin from captivity, he could also see that she now had delicate curves beneath those alluring robes.

Severus Snape was going barking mad. He was sure of it.

He made his way back to his bed, climbing back into his plain white cotton sheets with a muffled groan and conjuring an ice pack for his head. He lowered the lights with another wave of his wand and attempted to sleep, trying not to think of wide brown eyes and soft pink lips and hair that he wanted to bury his face in. However, every time he closed his eyes, he kept seeing her face leaning over him, those succulent lips hanging just inches from his own. Gods, he wanted her.

* * *

Tuesday dawned bright and clear and crisply cold. Fallen leaves swirled in small tornadoes of colour behind him as Snape marched up to the door of Malfoy Manor in his heavy woolen travelling cloak. _She_ was sitting in the drawing room window, waiting for him. He pretended not to see her.

Hermione had dressed in plain black robes for the occasion, her hair braided carefully down her back to keep it out of her way. Her werewolf-repellant charm hung about her neck, and she had a very sad expression on her face; she was handing her wand to Draco just as Snape entered the drawing room.

"I wish I could let you keep it, but you know I can't." Draco frowned, catching his wife's mournful gaze. He glanced over her shoulder and nodded at the expected intrusion. "Snape."

Severus strode forward. "I assure you, Mrs. Malfoy, you will be adequately protected even without your wand. However, we have much to accomplish and only a short period of time in which to do so. We should expedite this process." He waited – and painfully averted his gaze – while Hermione popped up on her tiptoes to press a goodbye kiss on Draco's lips.

"I love you," Snape heard her whisper to him, and the sound was a thousand knives ripping at his gut.

Draco didn't reply; he merely laid his hand against the side of her neck and drew her face in so they were touching foreheads, and looked deeply into Hermione's eyes. After a few seconds, they shared an impish grin and a laugh.

"Off with you," he said quietly, pushing her in Severus' direction with a none-too-gentle pat on the bum. She took Snape's proffered arm and they walked out into the front garden to Apparate away.

* * *

With the school empty and the wards broken, there was nothing to stop them from Apparating directly onto Hogwarts grounds. The Death Eaters had been here; Hermione could tell. Several parts of the castle had been blasted to rubble, and it looked as though the entire place had been ransacked for whatever valuable items and curiosities might be found. As they passed through the castle on the way to the library, Hermione saw "die Mudbloods" scrawled in lurid green ink over one of the portraits. She felt like her heart was being ripped out of her chest.

"In here," Snape said, as though he was a tour guide and she had never been here before. Clearly, the desolation in his surroundings was affecting him as well. He lit his wand with a muttered _Lumos, _and together they picked their way around overturned tables and fallen bookshelves, the Restricted Section looming ominously ahead.

They spent a long time picking through the books. There were several on Ancient Runes, a few titles regarding illegal potions, and one Bible-like tome on Arithmancy that Hermione could scarcely lift by herself. Once they had gathered all the volumes together, Snape Reduced them and put them in a small canvas bag he had brought.

"What's next?" Hermione asked as they fled the desolate library.

"My former quarters," Snape replied shortly. "There are a few more books and some materials there that we will require."

They descended to the dungeons. Hermione was a little surprised when she saw his quarters for the first time. Somehow, she had always expected him to live in some sort of semi-squalor, but the tiny suite adjacent to the Potions laboratory was neat as a pin. There was a small kitchenette and a loo along the back wall, and the main room functioned as both a bedroom and a sitting area. His single bed was pushed against the far wall, made with plain white cotton sheets underneath a soft grey blanket. A low couch in Slytherin green sat facing a small fireplace. An end table next to it was piled high with books. It wasn't exactly warm, but neither was it a cell. The Potions lab and adjoining office next door were crammed with oddities, but the walls and few bookshelves of Snape's private quarters were disappointingly bare. Or so Hermione thought, until she caught the small, gilt-framed framed picture of a young woman on a low shelf by the bedside. She appeared seventeen or so, and the picture had been taken without its subject's knowledge; she was frowning at a book in the library by candlelight, apparently revising for an exam.

Lily Potter.

Snape had locked and warded the door behind them and disappeared into the kitchenette immediately upon entering the suite. Hermione could hear him banging about, and she wondered what he was doing. She was surprised to walk in and find him cooking.

"Where on Earth did you get food from?" She couldn't help giggling. He was wearing a white apron over his usual black suit, whisking eggs in a green enamel bowl. He gave her an evil look and transferred the contents to a frying pan on the woodstove, nodding once at the canvas bag on the counter in response.

"Brought it with me. I knew it was going to be a long day and we were going to need to eat something, and I do despise sandwiches." Hermione hopped up on the counter next to the sink and watched him as he threw diced peppers and onions and shredded cheese into the pan and began to fold over his omelet as the cheese melted.

"I can't believe you can cook," she blurted. He cocked an eyebrow.

"And why is that? Cooking is not so much different from brewing potions."

"Both are considered an art and a science," Hermione agreed. "However, bollocks up a potion and you may wind up dead. Bollocks up an omelet, and all you'll be is hungry."

"Miss Granger, if I were inclined to 'bollocks things up', as you so charmingly put it, I would not have attained the position of Potions Master by the age of twenty-five." He did not feel like discussing his alcoholic, abusive father and equally alcoholic, helpless mother; he had learned to fend for himself from an early age for everything - from meals, to laundry, to making sure he got himself to that horrid Muggle school on time every morning with a lunch packed and all his books. She was quiet while he finished cooking and removed his apron.

A few minutes later, they were settled in front of the fireplace with a conjured cocktail table in front of them, all set up with omelets, toast, and raspberry jelly in a silver bowl with feet, charmingly enchanted to shuffle back and forth on its little legs when beckoned. Snape had also brewed her favourite tea, Earl Grey, to absolute perfection. Hermione hummed with pleasure as she closed her eyes and inhaled the aroma deeply. She added two sugars and stirred carefully, then managed a scalding sip.

Snape was watching her discreetly through his eyelashes while fixing his own tea (milky with one sugar), and though his face was impassive, her little sigh when she caught the bergamot scent of the tea had made his heart race. The fire was sprinkling sparks of Butterbeer-coloured glory in Hermione's beautiful mermaid's hair, and her cheeks were slightly flushed with the heat of the fire and the steam from her teacup. Snape realized he was going to have very vivid erotic dreams that evening.

"Thank you," she said, putting her cup down and touching his arm as he reached for his own plate. "I'm glad you thought of this." Even through the black serge of his suit, her touch sent electric shocks up his arm. Her eyes met his for a split second but he looked away almost immediately, afraid that she would read his desire there. He did not want to her to know. He knew she was unattainable, but he did not want to face her rejection, all the same.

"My pleasure," he said softly.

They ate in companionable silence, enjoying the crackling of the flames and the peacefully awkward company. When their simple meal was over, Snape Vanished the dishes and cutlery and Transfigured the little jam dish into a glass jar with a lid, stowing it back inside the canvas bag for safekeeping. On their way out of Snape's quarters, they stopped in his office to retrieve a few more books and a mysterious black train case. Snape did not say what was in it, and Hermione did not feel it necessary to ask. She would be brewing the potion with him, after all. She reckoned she'd find out soon enough. Hermione went into the storeroom and started grabbing ingredients as fast as possible. Snape joined her momentarily and Reduced the bottles to a manageable size, then slipped them into the canvas bag.

"Severus." Her voice startled him out of his reverie. "I have to make one more stop before we go."

He sighed through his nose, knowing what was coming. "Must you?"

"Yes."

* * *

Dumbledore's office had hardly changed. It seemed the Death Eaters could not break the wards on this room; most of the artifacts Hermione remembered were still intact, although the broken windows high on the wall had let the wind in. Snape stopped and after a moment of consideration, grabbed the Pensieve from its place in the wall. Hermione watched him carefully as he Reduced the object and stowed it in the now-bulging canvas sack, but if she objected, she did not say so. That was not her reason for wanting to visit Dumbledore's office.

The Headmaster's enchanted portrait was there, snoozing peacefully in its armchair. Snape had warned her that it would not wake for quite some time. In fact, he strongly suspected it would not wake until after the Dark Lord was defeated. Still, Hermione would not be dissuaded from seeing the portrait.

"Headmaster?" she said loudly. "Professor Dumbledore?" She got up on her tiptoes directly under the portrait. "SIR?" The portrait merely snoozed on, completely undisturbed. Hermione stood underneath it with her head bowed and her arms crossed for quite some time, and after awhile, her shoulders started to shake. Snape crept up behind her and then around to see her face. Her eyes were scrunched shut and tears were rolling down her cheeks.

"Hermione," he said softly. He reserved her first name for only the most serious of occasions. She shivered as wintery wind gusted through the office and opened her eyes to find he was standing in front of her, staring down at her with those impenetrable black orbs.

"Hermione," he rumbled soothingly in his velvet voice, "it will be all right."

She scoffed viciously. "How can you say that?" she seethed, her voice thick with tears and fury. "How can _you_ say that? I barely even got to know I was a witch before all this stupid bullshit started up. I wasted my entire life up to now fighting a losing battle, and now? Thanks in large part to _you_ and your petty little vendettas and your fucking friends, everything I ever loved about this world is gone, so you fucking tell me: how exactly is everything going to be all right?" She was pressing him up against the wall now with a finger in his face, her hair blowing wildly about her face in the wind that swept through the broken windows, her brown eyes glittering furiously just inches from his own. He was glad she didn't have her wand.

"You say that like you have no love left," he murmured. She was half-expecting him to draw his wand and hex her senseless, but all he did was step toward her. "You love Draco."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Hermione snapped. "For all I know, it could just be his empathic magic. It does…strange things to me." She looked away and swallowed. "It never would have happened if I hadn't found myself in this weird situation in the first place. It's not a goddamn consolation prize." She raised her hand as if to strike him, but he caught her by the wrist.

"I don't think so," Snape said softly, glaring at her. He was willing to cut her a lot of slack, but she had pushed him too far when she threatened physical violence. He had seen and endured enough violence for one lifetime, and he did not take it lightly. Ever. He grabbed her other wrist, forcefully but gently, and pinned her arms behind her. They stumbled back against the wall.

"Dumbledore was my friend too, Granger. He gave me a chance when no one else would. You don't know shit about who my friends are, so don't you fucking stand there with your bloody Gryffindor moral superiority and act like you're the only one who's lost someone, because it simply is not bloody so," he hissed directly into the shell of her ear. She had never heard him swear like that before. It silenced her. "You're not the only one who has sacrificed their life. _ I_ defected when _you_ were still in nappies." His black eyes seemed full of the fires of hell; his voice was wavering with barely-suppressed fury. "I know Draco has told you every humiliating detail about my agreement with Dumbledore, about the Horcruxes, everything. You know I had no choice, and that without me, Draco would very likely be dead." He was pressing in on her now, his black-clad shape blocking out the light around her. His voice was low and dangerous. "So it seems I've done you a good turn or two, Hermione Granger. And I haven't asked anything in return, other than for your help to continue the fight."

"And what could I possibly have that you want?" she demanded bitterly. That was when the air in the room shifted. She was suddenly aware of his proximity and his mild herbal scent, very different from Draco's musky masculine odor. Her eyes met his, and she could not read anything there. His face was a calm mask as he lowered his lips within bare millimeters of hers. He stared deeply into her eyes for a moment, but his gaze was drawn to her slightly parted lips. It took all of Snape's considerable self-control not to kiss her.

"What, indeed?" he murmured. His words tasted like Earl Grey in her mouth. She closed her eyes, but opened them when he released her wrists and stepped back a little, making her stumble slightly against him. He backed away a little more.

"We should go." Hermione's voice was low and shaky. The wind was picking up and the warmth was bleaching out of the daylight. Snape slung the canvas bag back over his shoulder and held up an elbow for her to take, which she did, albeit reluctantly. Before they Apparated back to the grounds of Malfoy Manor, Snape stared at her for a long moment, but said nothing.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: I couldn't take it anymore – I had to go back and make some massive revisions to Chapters 2 and 3, as well as a few stylistic changes in Chapter 4. If you've been following this story, I do recommend going back to read the changes. I think the story flows a little more realistically now. Nothing monumentally important to the story has changed, though, so if you don't have time, it's not required reading. If you do go back, I hope you like it.

Now, you lovelies know I don't give hints as to where the story is heading – you'll just have to wait and see. Some people are cheering Snape on, while others are a little squicked out by him, but one thing's for sure: people want to know where this is going! My inbox is full of fun speculation! I love it! Anyway, the next chapter's song suggestion is Rihanna, "S&M". Enjoy. :d

PS – Please keep in mind that Hermione is about to celebrate her 19th birthday. She's of age; therefore, Snape is _not_ a pedophile. I don't write pedophilia _ever_, and I rarely write rape scenes. Those things are the Unforgivable Curses of the real world.

PPS – This chapter is dedicated to LadyLilyAshley – she knows why. ;)

* * *

"**Are we waiting for a savior? / I'm so sick of waiting / I've been waiting my whole life…"**

– **Karnivool, "New Day", **_**Sound Awake**_** (2009)**

"**Continue to surprise those who would put you in a neat demographic. Be insistently curious." **

– **Gordon Gee**

**Chapter 13 – Les Débrouillards**

When Hermione and Snape arrived back at Malfoy Manor, Hermione was relieved to find that Draco had gone out. She left Snape in the library without a word, making a beeline for her quarters and her wand, and removed the memory of her conversation with him as quickly as possible. It dangled off the tip of her wand for a full minute before she figured out what to do with it, namely flushing it down the loo. She watched the water swirling down the drain and prayed to any deities who might be listening that it would be enough to conceal the event from Draco. She wasn't sure what sort of emotional vibrations she was giving off, or how much he would be able to glean from her mental state, but she was certain the afternoon's events fell under the "he doesn't need to know" category.

As far as Draco knew, Hermione was feeling particularly grumpy over the next few days because she'd finally gained enough weight back to start getting her periods again. He gave her a wide berth, so she passed her days in relative solitude, alternately reading and worrying.

She had a tickle of dread in the pit of her stomach that worsened with each passing hour. Snape was planning to take her to China with him for a few days in order to gather the next requirement for the potion: a cauldron made entirely of black jade. According to him, it had to be authentic Chinese jade for the potion to brew properly; the standard pewter cauldron would chemically interfere with the process, as would silver.

Hermione's lip curled in an unconscious snarl as she thought of Snape. She honestly had no idea why she had to go with him to China, and she definitely did _not_ want to be alone with him outside Malfoy Manor ever again. It was a single object he was bringing back, and clearly he knew exactly where and from whom he was going to get it; what did he need her for?

Her birthday fell on a Saturday that year, and although Hermione had no particular wish to celebrate, Lucius and Narcissa insisted on having a small get-together in her honour. Narcissa in particular was quite fond of her new daughter-in-law, and she could not resist making an opportunity to show her off a little.

"Nonsense, darling, you're a Malfoy now," she had cooed when Hermione voiced her objection for the fifteenth time. She wasn't sure exactly how being a Malfoy logically translated into having a birthday party, but she realized that she was not going to convince her mother-in-law to give up. Narcissa wouldn't invite anyone dangerous or unsavory, but Hermione still didn't feel like partying with a bunch of people who weren't her friends, especially not while the Weasleys were rotting in Azkaban. A tear slipped down her cheek as she thought about them. She missed the days of celebrating her birthday at Hogwarts with Harry and Ron and Ginny. They always got her the most thoughtful gifts; at least, Harry and Ginny did. Ron usually got her something edible, but that was fine, too. She missed them all terribly.

Her melancholy train of thought gave her the resolve to carry on – she had to complete the potion so they could kill Voldemort and liberate the prisoners in Azkaban. Then maybe she could get on with a semblance of a normal life, not just pretending everything was fine when the whole world was falling apart. _I_ _will do what I have to do to make that happen,_ Hermione thought, _and to hell with Snape and his capricious moods._ He was sure to be at the party, of course, which wasn't helping her enthusiasm for it.

By Friday night, her period was over, but her mood had not improved. Narcissa had helped her pick out a beautiful dress for the party, and it was now hanging on the back of the lavatory door while Hermione floated glumly in a bubble bath. She stared at the dress. It really was beautiful - iridescent midnight blue, strapless, with an empire waist and a mid-thigh bubble skirt - and she wished she were looking forward to wearing it. There was a pair of two-inch black patent heels to go with the dress, and while they were very sexy, Hermione reckoned she'd better spend the majority of the next evening sitting down.

After she finished her bath, she found Draco waiting for her in their bedroom, reading one of her Ancient Runes books. "Hello," he greeted her softly as she sat on the bed and squeezed excess water from her curls with a towel.

"Hello," she replied, giving him a half-hearted smile. They regarded each other for a long, quiet moment. They hadn't touched each other much in the past week, and some awkwardness had crept back between them.

"It's your birthday tomorrow," he said after awhile.

Hermione's smile faded. "So it is," she half-groaned. She threw the towel into the hamper and crawled up on the bed next to him.

"Can I give you your present now?" he asked.

"Why not?"

He reached under the bed and produced a white box tied with a red ribbon, which he handed to her with an expectant look on his face. She pulled the ribbon loose and lifted the lid to find a miniature crystal otter, charmed to gambol about. Hermione grinned as she watched it roll and play. She scooped her treasure out of the box and placed it on the nightstand, where the little otter immediately rolled on its back and starting chewing on one of its feet.

"It's adorable, Draco," she said sincerely. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He kissed her lips gently, and the emotional charge it passed to Hermione felt very comforting. He was well aware that his wife was not looking forward to her birthday party, and he was looking to dispel the foul humor that had hung about her like a raincloud for nearly a week.

She hesitated at first; she had spent all week trying not to think about kisses and almost-kisses, but Draco's lips were soft and warm, and she couldn't help herself from leaning into him as his arms wound around her waist. She was tempted to resist when his hands found the tie of her robe and undid the knot, but she made a conscious choice to just go with it. She was _so_ tired of feeling bad – maybe he could make her feel _good_.

Draco felt her hesitation, though he didn't understand it; he also felt her acquiescence, but he _wanted _her desire. She had been so distant all week, and he wanted her back –now. It was time to give her the other half of her birthday present. Before they had been so rudely interrupted last time, she had been about to do some very kinky stuff to him, and he was dying to try it out with roles reversed. It would have to be very gentle, though – he didn't know what sort of tortures she might have endured in captivity, and he didn't want to trigger any bad memories.

"Lie back on the bed," he said, breaking the kiss. She obliged, and he grabbed his wand from the nightstand, conjuring a set of five black silk scarves.

"Draco," she warned, eyeing the scarves. Apparently she wasn't too keen on submission, then. Not that he was surprised; it wasn't in the Gryffindor nature to be submissive.

"Trust me," he whispered in her ear. "I won't hurt you, I promise. I only want to give you pleasure." He waited for a few heartbeats before she nodded reluctantly. Within moments, Hermione found herself bound at the wrist and ankle to the corners of the bed, the fifth scarf wrapped securely around her eyes.

"Can you see?" Draco asked in a low, soothing voice.

"No," she breathed. She was a teensy bit scared, but also curious.

"Good," he said, keeping his voice calm and sultry. He reached under the bed again and pulled out a black leatherette box. Inside were a paintbrush, a small jar of vanilla frosting, and some ice cubes in a dish charmed to stay cold. He set the open box on the nightstand for the moment, returning his full attention to kissing Hermione while he straddled her in his boxers. He trailed kisses along her jaw to that magic spot under her ear, nipping her hard enough to leave a mark. She gasped as shivers of pleasure and pain ran down to her nipples and they hardened.

"Mmmm," he hummed with satisfaction as gooseflesh rippled over her body. "You like that?"

"Yes," she choked.

Draco continued to nip and suck at her neck as he worked his way down to her breasts. She whimpered and thrust them at him, but he only caressed their sides lightly and placed a kiss between them before continuing down her abdomen. He skipped her most sensitive area, kissing her hipbones and leaving another love-bite in the tender flesh of her inner thigh instead. He could smell her arousal, musky-sweet in the air between them. He continued to kiss down Hermione's legs, massaging them gently with his hands and pausing to lick at the backs of her knees and around her delicate ankles, occasionally biting her hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to break the skin. When he had ravished her from head to toe, he reached for one of the ice cubes and placed it without warning against her right nipple. It was so cold that it burned, and Hermione cried out in surprise, arching her back off the bed. Draco immediately removed the ice cube from her nipple and replaced it with his tongue.

"Ohhh, gods," she moaned. She itched to touch him, but couldn't because of her restraints. The unfulfilled desire amplified the incredible sensations coming from her breast as he alternately iced her nipple and laved it with his tongue to warm it, moving over to the other and including it in the torturous play as well. "Ohh, gods, _Draco_."

He chuckled. "Feel good?"

"Oh, yes." She jumped when she felt the touch of the ice cube against her clitoris. It ached and burned with cold, but it also felt intensely good. Draco slid the ice cube down against her opening, holding still there for a moment, then removed it and licked upwards with a slow, flat tongue against her folds. She hissed, and an answering growl rumbled from his throat. He sucked her clitoris into his mouth to warm it, massaging lightly around it with his tongue. Hermione could feel the lust pooling between her hips.

So it went, he alternately teasing her clitoris with ice cube and tongue, she a quivering mass of curls and alabaster skin in the sheets, until Draco's fingers were numb with cold. He decided it was time to break out the frosting. Putting the remnants of the ice cube back in its dish, he unscrewed the lid of the jar and swirled the little paintbrush lightly in the frosting. The vanilla scent reached Hermione's nose and she hummed appreciatively. Draco reached over and painted her lower lip, then sucked it delicately before sweeping his tongue into her mouth to share the sweet taste with her.

Next were her nipples. Draco painted them both and laid the paintbrush horizontally across the lid of the jar, then lowered his head to her pointed pink tips, taking his time to lick and suck them completely clean. Picking up the paintbrush again, he painted a line from her belly button down to the top of her pubic hair and followed it with his tongue, eliciting a throaty moan from his witch.

"Draco," Hermione panted.

"Hmm?" He was settling between her legs with a paintbrush full of fresh frosting.

"I think I might die if you don't fuck me right now."

"Not yet," he taunted in a sing-song voice. He touched the paintbrush to her clitoris and twirled it a little, leaving a residue of sweet vanilla cream on the glistening flesh. He traced it down her outer lips as well, careful to avoid getting the sugary substance anywhere near her opening.

"Oooooooh," Hermione purred. "That feels good."

"Mmm-hmmm?" Draco made the questioning noise with his mouth against her clitoris, sending electric vibrations through her. She jerked and moaned as he sucked and licked her pussy. Gods above, she _really_ needed to come.

"Draco, you need to let me out," she gasped a few minutes later. "I _need_ to touch you. _Please_."

"Are you begging me?" He slipped his boxers off and laid himself on top of her, pressing his erection against her pubic bone and covering her in warm skin. His tongue darted into her ear. "Is Gryffindor's princess begging _Draco Malfoy_ to let her touch him?" She turned her head and snapped her teeth aggressively just centimeters from his ear, making him chuckle again. He loved her fiery playfulness in the sack. He undid her restraints with a wave of his wand, and as soon as he did, she ripped the blindfold from her eyes and threw herself at him, pinning him to the mattress. Much to his surprise, she spun around and straddled him in reverse, settling herself with his cock aimed at her mouth and her pussy parked happily on his face.

"More," she insisted, wiggling a little to get her point across.

"With pleasure," he replied, and dove into the task at hand. He was having a hard time concentrating, though – her tiny hands were gripping his cock as she sucked, twisting and pumping in time with her mouth, her tongue lashing about against his throbbing head. _Merlin,_ she could suck a cock. He moaned into her pussy and spanked her ass once, hard, causing an echoing moan from her to vibrate through him. "I want you _now_."

The tip of his cock popped out of her mouth as she gasped for breath. "Now who's begging?"

"You'll pay for that, witch," Draco mock-snarled, grabbing her by the hips and flipping her over onto her back before she could protest. He rubbed himself all along Hermione's wet slit, and they sighed with pleasure in unison. Very slowly, he lowered himself into position, and pushed carefully into her until he could feel her lips touching his balls.

"Ahhh. Fuck, yeah." He thrust slowly in and out of her, using his entire length to its full advantage with every stroke. She used her feet for leverage and pushed against him, forcing their flesh together with a slam and grinding her clit against his pubic bone with small, lazy circles of her hips. She was staring deeply into his eyes, and he felt their empathic connection spark a little as her orgasm neared. He reached for her with his mind, trying to send her an impression of how good her tight little pussy felt wrapped around his cock.

"FUCK!" Hermione screamed directly into his ear, but Draco didn't mind. "AHH, FUCK, I'M _COMING_!" He could feel it, little undulating waves of heat as she shivered and clenched around him. Warm wetness seeped from the spot where they were connected, soaking his balls in her fluids. With a few more strokes, he found his own release, crying out into her hair while he shuddered and spurted inside her.

"Happy birthday," he panted as he rolled off her, collapsing at her side and Summoning a towel from the bathroom to help clean up the mess.

"Thank you," she said, taking the towel from him.

"My pleasure," He repeated meaningfully. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched her clean herself up, Banishing the towel to the hamper for her when she was done.

"Can I ask you a question?" Draco asked.

"Hmmm?" Hermione stifled a yawn.

"Were you really a virgin?"

She looked puzzled. "What, on our wedding night?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well, certainly not any other time."

She frowned, turning to face him fully. "Of course, why would I lie about that?"

"It's just…where did you learn to suck cock like that?" He refused to meet her eye. "That was the best I've ever had, I and I had Parkinson. That girl is legendary."

Hermione smacked him over the head. "Ugh, _wayyyyy_ too much information. Also, don't mention that slag's name in my bedroom ever again. She disgusts me."

Draco laughed. "Ooooh! Jealous, Granger?" He reached out and took her in his arms. He felt a little zing go through his skin – she really was piqued, and he made a mental note of her extreme antipathy for Parkinson with curiosity – but he was touched by her flare of jealousy. It meant she thought of him as _hers_, a thought that sent shivers of pleasure up his spine.

"Too right you are," she murmured, and he realized that she had sensed his thought quite clearly. He knew that Slytherins could be very possessive of their lovers, but he didn't realize Gryffindors shared the trait as well. It made sense, though.

"It's getting stronger, isn't it," he whispered against her hair. It wasn't a question. "The bond between us gets stronger every day, especially after we've just made love."

"I think so," she agreed quietly. "It's…really something, isn't it?"

Draco turned her chin with a gentle touch so she was looking into his eyes. "I love you." It was the first time he'd been able to say it properly.

"I love you too," Hermione responded, and brushed her lips against his gently.

"You still haven't answered my question, though," he said when they broke apart.

"What question? Where did I learn to suck cock?"

"Yeah!"

"I like to read," she said archly, raising an eyebrow at him. "What makes you think I don't read books about sex?"

He laughed and shook his head, smiling that little boy's smile Hermione loved so much. "It is always the bookish ones that turn out to be freaks in the sack, isn't it?"

She shrugged. "Knowledge is power. Besides, it really isn't that difficult in practice if you've got a book that teaches the theory well. I decided to try some of the things I read, and it worked."

They snuggled together under the covers, Hermione's head on Draco's left shoulder. "I feel guilty now, honestly," he said. "You learned about sex in the purest way possible. Now I feel like a man-whore."

"Okay, well, I already know about one," Hermione sighed, bracing herself. "You might as well tell me who the others were."

"Just Pansy and Daphne Greengrass," Draco admitted. "I fooled around with plenty of girls in Slytherin, but I only ever fucked those two. I dated Pansy from Christmas of fifth year all the way to the beginning of sixth year, but Daphne was just a one-time thing when we both had too many Butterbeers after a Quidditch game. That's why Pansy and I broke up."

"Charming," Hermione sneered. He felt that strong pulse of jealousy again through their psychic bond, and it warmed him all the way to his toes, in spite of her contemptuous expression.

"Hey," he said, "it doesn't matter. You're not sharing me with anyone. They were both entirely forgettable, truth be told." He squeezed her gently and kissed the top of her head. "You, I could never forget."

* * *

The following evening, Hermione and Draco came down to the drawing room to greet their guests promptly at 7 pm. When they entered the room, Hermione was a little surprised to see some of the faces there. Along with Narcissa and Lucius and Snape, she recognized Professor Sinistra, her former Ancient Runes professor, along with Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott. There was also a tiny Chinese witch that Hermione didn't recognize, with an ancient, wrinkled face like a crumpled piece of parchment and glorious red silk robes.

"Ahh, the lady of the hour," Lucius drawled smoothly as she entered the room. He offered his arm to his daughter-in-law, kissing her cheek in a showy fashion, which made Hermione blush and giggle. She was learning that everything Lucius said was tongue-in-cheek; if he teased you, it meant he liked you. "Let me introduce you to our guests. I believe you know Messrs. Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini." She shook hands with them in turn. Nott was a tall, cadaverous man with an unruly mop of curly black hair and ice-blue eyes. Zabini was tall as well, but powerfully muscled and broad-shouldered. He stood a good three to four inches taller than Draco and had skin the colour of black walnut wood. He bowed over Hermione's hand and kissed the back of it.

"And of course, you remember Aurora Sinistra," Lucius continued. Hermione hugged her old professor happily. The tall, dark-haired woman smiled demurely and returned her hug with little, delicate pats on her back. She was not a warm person, but she was genuinely glad to see one of her favourite students alive and well.

"Hermione," she said, in her musical voice. It always reminded Hermione of tinkling silver bells. "I'm very glad to see you."

"You too, Professor," Hermione returned.

"And finally, I'd like you to meet Wang Hsien-Yu. She is one of Snape's friends from China." Lucius indicated the tiny witch in the flaming red robes, who shook Hermione's hand enthusiastically.

"A pleasure, Mrs. Malfoy," she said, her Chinese accent surprisingly light. "I have been dying to meet you. Severus has told me so much –"

"That will do, Hsien-Yu," Snape interrupted. The ancient little woman just laughed merrily.

"Oh, him, he is so incredibly grumpy in his old age," she said dismissively, waving one ancient hand. She patted Hermione on the shoulder. "You and me, we'll talk when I'm too drunk to pay him any mind."

"Gifts!" Roared Lucius, turning to a table with several small boxes on it. "Gifts and champagne, then music!" He clapped his hands, and the house elves scurried in carrying trays of hot and cold hors d'oeuvres.

Hermione shot Draco an accusatory glare. "You didn't say anything about gifts."

Draco shrugged. "Slytherin."

Hermione sat on the sofa with the others gathered around her in a circle. The first box was from Lucius and Narcissa, and when she opened it, her jaw hit the floor. Inside were a set of earrings and an impressive choker necklace of emeralds and gold, clearly a family heirloom made to match her engagement and wedding rings. It was obviously chosen to show her how much a member of the family she had become.

"Oh, thank you," she said, blinking back tears. "They're stunning." She never would have thought that the Malfoys would be so good to her.

"You're welcome, darling," Narcissa said, patting her hand. She passed Hermione a small, slender box. "This one is from Aurora, I believe." Inside the box was a flat rectangle of silver Hermione recognized as a bookmark, with runes for health and clarity of mind inscribed on it. It was a very thoughtful and personal gift, and it reflected the refined tastes of the giver perfectly, she thought.

"Thank you, Professor," she said sincerely. "This will get a lot of use." Everyone laughed except Snape, even the usually taciturn Zabini.

Sinistra smiled her dreamy smile. "You are welcome. I rather thought it might."

"Open ours next," Theo said, handing her a large box. "This one's from me and Zabini."

Hermione was pleasantly surprised. "That's very thoughtful, gentlemen. You didn't have to do that."

"Yes, we did," Theo corrected. "I thought you knew Narcissa better."

Hermione laughed, as did Lucius. "Theo, you don't even know the half of it," he agreed. Inside the box was a beautiful designer handbag – Italian leather, of course.

"Wow, thank you!" she said.

"It's got an Undetectable Extension charm on it," Nott told her. "Zabini's idea."

"Mine next!" Hsien-Yu crowed from the back corner. She Levitated a large, very heavy black box with a gold bow into Hermione's lap.

"Not you, too," Hermione said. "This is too much, really."

"Nonsense," replied the ancient little witch, flapping a dismissive hand. "Besides, it's from Severus too."

_This ought to be good_, Hermione thought. She couldn't imagine what one could expect to receive as a birthday gift from Severus Snape. She couldn't believe what was in the box – a standard size cauldron made of pure black jade. It was unbelievably heavy, with inch-thick walls and a complicated runic spell carved around the rim. Relief flowed through Hermione – _I don't have to go to China with him! _– and she hoped that no one could read her thoughts on her face. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"You are welcome, Hermione," Hsien-Yu replied. "It seems a fitting gift with which to welcome you into our little society."

"Society?" Hermione repeated. "What do you mean?"

"We are taking up where the Order of the Phoenix left off," Hsien-Yu explained. "Welcome to _Les Débrouillards._"

"The Resourceful Ones," Hermione translated.

"Precisely." The little old witch leaned forward and patted Hermione's knee. "You must take care never to let anyone else use that cauldron, or its magical properties will be nullified. Black jade is rather particular – once it has been purchased or given as a gift, only its owner can handle it. If anyone else so much as touches it, you might as well use it for a fruit bowl."

"Why is that?"

"Black jade has additional magical properties that have nothing to do with chemical reactions," Snape offered. "The runes around the rim are a concealment charm that will make it harder to detect a potion that has been brewed in this cauldron. Those runes use your name specifically in the charm – they are designed to protect and aid you. Much like wands, jade cauldrons have loyalties, except each jade cauldron is custom made for its owner."

"I make them," Hsien-Yu interjected proudly. "My family has been in the trade for over six hundred years. Severus ordered it for you, and I agreed to make it, on the proviso that I could come to meet you myself." One withered old hand patted Hermione's knee again. "I was just dying to meet the brightest witch of the age."

Hermione blushed. "So, you're all in on this, then? Even you, Nott? You always seemed to be all about blood purity."

"It's my dad who's the Death Eater - ruined my bloody childhood with his crap, my dad did. Now my mum's dead, well…" the gangly man spread his hands in an "oh-well-what-can-you-do" gesture. Theo wasn't normally this expansive, but he'd already had quite a bit to drink. "He never took much notice of me, anyhow. Not tough enough for him. Old bugger won't notice what's right under his nose, if it's anything to do with me."

"And you, Zabini?"

The dark man lifted an eyebrow. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Don't mind Zabini," Theo said dismissively. "He's not had enough to drink yet to be sociable, have you, Zabini?"

* * *

With the gift-opening concluded, Narcissa took her place at the piano and began playing a waltz. Hermione opened the dancing with Draco, as was customary, but as Lucius and Sinistra joined them, along with a very drunk Nott and an equally drunk Hsien-Yu, Snape cut in.

Snape's blood was pounding in his ears when Hermione laid her right hand in his left and he took her waist. He had not spoken to her since their encounter in Dumbledore's office, but he had spent every waking moment since thinking about her. They revolved slowly around the floor together, and he found himself fighting the urge to lay his cheek against her hair and inhale her sweet vanilla scent. As it was, she was making his knees tremble. She looked so beautiful in that midnight blue dress – he loved her in blue – and she had an unusually high blush in her cheeks and sparkling eyes, probably the result of too much champagne.

Gods, he was falling in love with her. He could not help himself. It wasn't just her beauty - he loved seeing her happy. He would do ridiculous things just to see her smile.

Her beauty was still in the reckoning, though. Snape could feel himself growing hard under his robes and was glad that he wasn't snuggling into Hermione's hair after all. He wanted to say something – anything - to her, but he found himself without words. He felt as though someone had cast a very good _Confundus_ on him.

"So, we're not going to China after all, then." She did him the favour of speaking first.

"No," he replied. "That is my true gift to you."

Wide brown eyes met his for the first time that evening. He nearly fell into their liquid depths and kissed the champagne-tang from her lips, but managed to restrain himself. Then, as quickly as it had begun, their dance was over.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: The darkness cannot be kept at bay for long. Song suggestions: "In the White" by Katatonia, from their 2006 album "The Great Cold Distance". (Hey, if you guys like these song suggestions, I can keep it up. I can even go back and suggest songs for previous chapters. Wooo!)

This chapter is dedicated to LadyLilyAshley, because she sees my vision and makes me smile. -QnQ

* * *

**"In a real dark night of the soul, it is always three o'clock in the morning, day after day."**** – F. Scott Fitzgerald**

**"Now that you're here/It becomes so clear/I have waited/For you always..." Katatonia, "In The White", _The Great Cold Distance (2006)_  
**

**Chapter 14 – Unknowable**

Hermione lived in relative peace and quiet for only one day following her birthday party; she had to see Snape to begin brewing the potion starting Monday morning. The brewing process was taking place in a hidden lab in the dungeons below the manor, so she didn't feel as unsafe as she might have. Still, she felt distinctly uncomfortable as she descended the stairs to the lab, cauldron in hand.

The wards on the room were keyed to allow her entrance, as well as the other members of Les Débrouillards, but anyone else who opened the door would see only a broom closet. Hermione pressed her empty palm against the door, and it opened on a low-ceilinged room with only a tiny glass brick window the size of her fist set high in the far wall. A long, scarred wood table filled most of the room, with a long bench running down the right side. A portable flame dish was waiting for her jade cauldron, sitting on the table underneath a hook suspended on a long chain from the ceiling – her cauldron's resting place.

Snape had found a resting place also; he was sitting on the edge of the bench nearest the door, reading from a massive leather-bound tome entitled "Advanced Potion Brewing Techniques – Vol XII". Hermione wondered what was in the previous eleven volumes, if the twelfth was that large, but she had no time to inquire. Snape snapped the book shut abruptly and got to his feet. "Mrs. Malfoy."

He had reverted to use of her proper title. She had noticed that he reserved her first name for the most serious of occasions, and when they were alone he nearly always called her Granger – sometimes to provoke her, but other times, she could swear it was a term of endearment. He only called her Mrs. Malfoy when they were in the presence of others. She would have preferred he call her Granger always, but it implied a level of familiar comfort that they weren't going to be able to enjoy – the kind of comfort that came with neutrality of feeling. As long as he persisted in calling her Malfoy, it was a sign he was holding back. A sign he still burned for her. A bad sign.

"Snape," she returned coolly. She hooked her cauldron in place and cast _Incendio_ at the dish underneath it. Flames sprang up at once, crackling merrily. "_Aguamenti,_" Hermione muttered, filling the cauldron halfway with pure water. She turned to Snape, who had backed a safe distance away from the cauldron to avoid touching it accidentally. "Next steps?"

"The black star-flowers," Snape replied. He was grateful that she had chosen to get directly down to business instead of keeping to her usual infuriating habit of discussing everything to death; he wanted to keep control of the conversation. There was much to say, but it had to be on his terms. "While the water is heating, they need to be ground in a mortar and pestle." He handed her the white marble tools, immaculately clean like everything else he used to brew potions. Hermione had to reach past him for the jar of _stella nigra_, and a tendril of her vanilla sugar scent tickled his nose. Snape tried not to breathe as she got to work grinding. _Why does she have to smell so bloody good all the time?_ It was hard enough to resist her as it was without her smelling like a freshly iced cupcake. He loved the way she looked when she was working; her hair was braided back out of her eyes and pinned up with her wand, and she was wearing her soft yellow robes today, which made her look like a sunbeam. _A pissed off sunbeam_, he amended to himself. _A solar flare._

"What's next?" she prompted acerbically when she felt his eyes on her. The black star-flowers were now an unrecognizable pulp under the pestle, and a very odd smell was wafting up from the mortar.

"Drop the Jobberknoll feathers into the boiling water and add the star-flower pulp, one third at a time. Stir eight times clockwise, eight times counter-clockwise between each addition." Hermione followed his directions carefully, more silence stretching between them as the minutes ticked by. "It's got to boil for about an hour now, but it has to be stirred regularly, so we cannot leave it."

_Fan-_tastic, Hermione thought. Out loud, she said, "I can stay and watch it. I'm sure you have other things to do."

"I would feel more comfortable if I were here to supervise you," Snape replied. "However, you must be the one to handle the actual brewing. We cannot take the risk of my accidentally touching the cauldron." He may have promised to back off – though not in so many words – but it didn't mean he wasn't going to milk the time he did have with her. The Slytherin in him wouldn't let him let the opportunity slip by without taking advantage of it. "Sit."

"Fine," Hermione snapped. She flopped down on the bench with a sigh. He sat next to her, enjoying the way she flushed and slid down the bench with alacrity, leaving an ocean of space between them.

"Did you enjoy your birthday party?" he asked.

"It was a surprise," she responded. "I enjoyed meeting Hsien-Yu. Oh, and it was so good to see Professor Sinistra again," she added. She reached over to the cauldron and stirred it lightly with a glass rod, keeping to the same pattern – eight swirls clockwise, eight counter-clockwise. "But I thought we were on our own, that everyone who could help us was either dead or in hiding. You said –"

"We lied," Snape cut her off. "We had to be sure you agreed to help us before we revealed anything materially important to you."

Hermione looked even more pissed off. "Don't know why I expected different," she muttered.

Snape ignored her remark. "And your birthday gift?"

"I already thanked you for the cauldron," she sniffed, irritated at the implied slight against her manners. "At the party."

"That is not the gift to which I am referring," he said softly. Her eyes met his, and in the lamplight of the lab she could see that his eyes were not really black, but a very deep brown. They were so deeply set under his brows that his eyes were always in shadow, making them appear black to the casual observer. His hair was clean and brushed, hanging down in glossy sheets next to his face, and that fresh green scent was about him again. One thing was for sure – Severus Snape was trying _really hard_ to clean himself up. Hermione wished it weren't for her, wished she weren't noticing these tiny details about him. She looked down at her hands, focusing on her lumpy wrist bones as she stirred the cauldron, eight times this way, eight times that way.

"You seem to have saved me from unprecedented horrors," she snarked. "Can't imagine what horrible insults and emotional abuse you've rescued me from by limiting our time together. Not as though you've had _six years' worth of Potions classes_ to do your worst."

"Do not mock me," Snape warned, his voice icy calm.

"Do not mock _me_," Hermione echoed forcefully. She set the glass rod down for the nonce and turned to face Snape fully, snarling. "You took every opportunity to mock me when I was your student, and I am tired to death of it. I am not your student anymore, so never do it again!" One warning finger wavered in the direction of his nose.

"You are not my student anymore," Snape agreed, amused by the flash of steel in her eyes. "Nor are you a child."

"No, I am not."

"Then would it be inappropriate," he continued, "for me to tell you exactly what I am saving you from?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed. She leaned in to his face and hissed, "Go ahead," then plucked the glass rod from its resting place and stirred the potion again. "I'm just _dying_ to hear it."

Snape waited until she was done stirring, so as to protect the brewing potion. "Whenever I am near you, I want to touch you," he began softly, so softly that Hermione wouldn't have been sure he had spoken, had his words not shaken her to the core. She thought back to their first encounters in the drawing room-cum-library: she remembered feeling an odd attraction to him then, fleetingly. She had tried not to think about it since.

"I want to hide in your hair and not come out for days." His hand drifted to her wand, pulling it loose to release the braid in a swinging rope down her back. He laid the wand next to her stirring rod. "I never had a safe place to hide as a child, did you know? My parents were both alcoholics. My father beat me, and when he could not find me, he beat my mother." He heard her sharp intake of breath at his words, but plunged ahead with his horrible story. "From the time I was four, I could make my own meals, dress myself, and clean up after myself. I tried to take care of my mother. She was beyond saving, I know now." His silky voice was dreamy and mesmerizing; he was lost in his own recollections. "I used to flee the house whenever I could. That was when I met _her_, and I thought _she_ was going to be my safe place, until _he_ came along and ruined it all." Snape did not need to elucidate. One pale hand raked its fingers through Hermione's braid, loosening the woven hair until it was a wild waterfall to her waist. She wanted to protest, but she wanted to hear the rest of the story more.

"And then, this annoying little girl who popped up in my Potions class, who drove me nearly to the brink of insanity over the years with her constant jabbering and her insufferable know-it-all attitude…" He sighed through his nose. "She grew up, and she started driving me insane for a different reason.

"Do you know," he continued, his hand still in her hair, "that every time I close my eyes, I see your face before me? That every time I smell you, my mouth waters?" He gripped the back of her head and drew her face close to his. "Do you know how badly I want to taste you? I want to know if you taste as good as you smell." His gaze drifted from her eyes to her mouth, reluctantly dragging upward again to meet her solemn stare. "You are a former student and another man's wife, and it is all I can do not to take you right here on this lab table. So do not mock me, witch. You would not be so cruel as to torture a man already in agony."

Hermione wrenched away from him again and stirred the potion in her methodical way. She let the silence between them stretch out for a good twenty minutes while she considered his words.

She had much to forgive him for. He had been so cruel. Behind it all, he had been nurturing this secret self all along, playing double-agent and never once finding any love in the world. It was a sad tale, but did he really deserve to be forgiven? Was being in pain oneself really an excuse for causing pain to another?

On the other hand...Snape was an extremely complicated and broken man, and she _did_ have something of a saving-people thing. It was mostly altruism. Some of it was because she had so much love to give. She had to get rid of it – love is burdensome, and too much of it can crush you.

She also felt slightly triumphant as they sat on the bench. Here was a woman who had grown from a lost and mostly rejected little girl; the feeling of being desired from afar, of being wanted, was a novel, powerful drug coursing through her veins. She had had crushes, first on Harry, then on Ron – and neither of them had been returned, but she kept up their friendship anyway. Her other peers had largely spurned her. She was too smart for their tastes; she made them feel small with her great big brain. Even Harry and Ron couldn't resist either using her for her smarts, or taking the mickey about it – sometimes good-naturedly, sometimes with a sharp and envious edge. Even so, Hermione genuinely loved her friends, and their company was also better than being alone, even if neither of them returned her affections the way she wished they would.

Just when she thought for certain that she was going to die without ever really having been loved properly, the power was hers; not only had she got the Sex God of Slytherin to fall for her without even knowing she had done it, but it seemed Snape was obsessed, too. It was a heady thing to control a man's desire.

Snape's honeyed words evoked a deep curiosity in her – could she fix him? – but they were too little, too late. Hermione felt guilty when she thought of eyes the colour of stones and doves. Draco really did love her, and she was falling in love with him, too. Plus, they were married. Surely marriage was a promise worth keeping?

"So what?" Hermione finally said. "So you want to taste me. What of it?"

Snape could not bear the teasing note in her voice. He had unwittingly given over his power, and she was all too willing to take it. She could crush him now with a word. "I can think of nothing else," he replied simply. "You are haunting me."

She swung one leg over the bench so she was straddling it, facing him. "And if I let you taste me, what then?" She let the weight of her words sink into his chest. "It would only feed your desire."

"I can think of nothing else," he repeated in a whisper. His eyes were dark and hungry on her mouth. "You are killing me."

She just sat facing him, closing her eyes to gather her thoughts. She was about to crack an eyelid when she felt it: lips, softer than they looked and warmer than she had imagined, and still with that tang of Earl Grey, pressed ever so gently against hers. Snape meant it to be a chaste kiss, but when he finally tasted her- vanilla lip balm and peppermint toothpaste and warmth - he moaned and twined his hands in her hair, holding her close and nibbling experimentally at her lower lip. She opened her mouth reflexively and their tongues met.

Hermione's eyes flickered open; she didn't want to encourage him and meant to break the kiss, but he was kissing her with his eyes jammed shut in an expression that was half agony, half bliss. His hands had moved to cradle her face tenderly. In that moment, she decided that this might be the only time Severus Snape ever felt fully connected to another human being, enough so that _emotion was actually showing on his face for once_, so he might as well get the full experience. She kissed him back.

"That was the one and only time," she warned him as they broke apart, breathing hard. He trailed a thumb over her lower lip but she turned her head away, resolute.

"I know," he acknowledged in a shaky voice. "I know." He watched her stirring the potion. "I believe that has brewed long enough. Now we have to leave it over low heat for a few days and let the fluxweed cure in the steam from the brewing potion." He handed her a bunch of the herb to hang from the hook that held the cauldron in place. She did so before aiming her wand at the flames in the dish below, lowering them to tiny blue tongues.

They left the potion behind a protective shield spell and double-warded doors. After they ascended the stairs to the land of the living, Hermione politely saw Snape to the front door. He stepped outside without a word and Apparated away from the front drive.

Before she went upstairs, Hermione made sure to make a trip to the loo and flush her memory away.

* * *

The next evening, the Dark Lord descended on Malfoy Manor once again, and once again Hermione and Draco were summoned to the formal dining room. Hermione had hoped that the Dark Lord was finished toying with them, but sadly, it wasn't to be. She and Draco had just finished making love again, and they barely had time to put their memories into phials (carefully labeled this time) before they were being ushered/dragged into Voldemort's presence.

"Ahh, the mudblood and the blood traitor, come to amuse us once more with their professions of love," intoned the snake-man in his falsely breathy voice. "Come to me, pretty mudblood. I have plans for you." He jerked his wand, and Hermione was propelled forward, her arms clamped at her sides and her feet unmoving. He slipped an arm around her, holding her close so she could smell his corpse-smell all around her like a cloud. The tip of his wand forced her head back, pressing a cold, sharp pain under her jaw in a focused point. She tried to keep her breathing steady.

"Draco." Voldemort's voice was a frisson of fear down Hermione's spine. She did not know what was coming, but she had a feeling this was about to get ugly fast. "Come here."

Draco obeyed, hating himself, hating every moment. "My Lord?"

"I want you to prove your loyalty to me, Draco," the evil one hissed. "I want you to torture this pretty mudblood for my pleasure."

"I won't," Draco declared softly, his face an unhealthy grey-white.

"I think you will," the Dark Lord countered. "Unless you've grown weary of Potter's slut." He scanned the gathering of Death Eaters until he found Bellatrix Lestrange's deranged face, leering happily at him. "Bellatrix, would you like the honour of dispatching her, since Draco has tired of married life?"

"Oh, yes, my Lord," she groveled. "If it pleases you."

Draco moaned, making Voldemort chuckle. "All in good time, Bellatrix. We must give young Draco the opportunity to redeem himself, after all." He still held Hermione captive, forcing her chin farther and farther back with his wand.

"Crucio," Draco whimpered, pointing a shaky wand-arm at Hermione. Nothing happened.

"Tsk." The Dark Lord tutted. "You have to _mean_ it, stupid boy." He drew his wand down Hermione's arm, leaving a vicious red slash. She screamed thinly in the dark magic-thickened air. "See? You have to make her scream like _this._ Bellatrix, would you like to give it a try?"

"CRUCIO!" Draco hollered hoarsely, shaking so hard he was vibrating. Hermione collapsed to the ground, writhing and screaming. Somewhere behind him, Narcissa let out a shuddering sob and buried her face in Lucius's shoulder.

No one could see it, but underneath the table, Snape's fingers were clawing into his knees hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises behind.

"Again," Voldemort demanded when Draco broke off his curse. "Again!"

"CRUCIO!"

It went on forever. Eventually, Hermione was a quivering heap on the floor, and Draco was on his knees before the Dark Lord, weeping.

"Enough," Voldemort said at last. "Your tears are revolting. Take your seat, Draco. You can look after your mudblood once I have left. I do not wish to be nauseated by the sight."

* * *

It seemed an entire eon had passed before the Dark Lord finally did leave. Snape beat Draco to Hermione's huddled form, hoisting her into his arms and Apparating with her to the Potions lab in the dungeons.

"Hermione." His voice was dark and icy with barely contained fury, although his manner toward her was gentle. "You have to take the cauldron. I don't even want to risk touching it with magic. Do you understand me?"

She nodded feebly against his chest. He could move fast when he needed to: in a wink, he had used his wand to heal her arm, cast a stasis charm over the cauldron, and coax the fluxweed off of its hanging and into his canvas bag. He cast one last protective spell on her (to protect her from the hot cauldron, she realized through her post-curse haze of pain) before sweeping her up into his arms again and hoisting her within reach of the cauldron's handle. She used what little strength she had to lift it into her lap. Snape magicked the canvas bag over his shoulder and Apparated them both straight from the dungeon.

* * *

Snape brought her to the only place he could think of – Hogwarts. By some miracle, he did not splinch them as they appeared with a _pop_ in his old quarters. He lowered Hermione carefully onto the still-made bed, draped in a loose fetal position around the cauldron, before conjuring a roaring fire in the fireplace. With neither inhabitants nor activity to give it warmth and light, the castle was an edifice carved in ice.

He set about casting every protective ward he could think of, rummaged around in the small bathroom for a few moments, and came back with a potion that he forced Hermione to take. "This will counteract the effects of the Cruciatus," he muttered, holding the phial against her lips. "It's the same one I gave you for shock before." She swallowed willingly enough.

"I have to collect some things for you, some food and clothing and the like. I have to do it in one trip; I can't risk coming back here repeatedly. When you are ready, take the cauldron into my office and hang it from the hook in there." Snape rummaged under his robes and lifted out a silver medallion on a thin chain. He tapped his wand and muttered, and the small medallion duplicated itself, each copy flaring red for a moment before settling back into its normal appearance.

"This has the Protean Charm on it now," Snape explained.

"Don't have my wand," Hermione mumbled.

"It's keyed to your heart rate. If you go over 80 beats per minute or under 60, I shall return at once." He knelt by her side and fastened the medallion around her neck, over her hair. "I will be back as soon as I can."

* * *

Hermione lay alone in the firelight for some time before the potion took full effect and she was able to put the cauldron in Snape's office. He had not said when he would return; just that it would be as soon as possible. Without a timepiece, there was no way to know how long he had been gone.

Hermione did not want to think about the horror of the evening. She did not want to think about how easily Draco gave in. _They would have killed you,_ spoke up a voice from the back of her mind. _He didn't have a choice._

_But he has a duty to protect me, _she argued back._ He didn't even try! And now I'm stuck alone here and only Snape knows where I am! I don't even have a wand! He promised me he would protect me, and now I've exchanged a cage for a cell. Effing brilliant!_

It wasn't until much, much later that she thought to look at the medallion. She couldn't have been more shocked. It was a Muggle item, a Catholic religious medallion; not silver, as she had originally thought, but pewter. The back bore the legend "VATICANO" in raised letters. On the front was the image of St. Jude – the patron saint of lost causes.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Oho! It seems I've got my own version of Team Edward/Team Jacob going on here, and the rivalry is bitter! We have Team Draco and Team Snape – which side are you playing on? Drop me a review and let me know. I respect that people love these characters and get very emotionally involved in what happens to them, but let's keep it fun, mmmkay? Respectful-like, too. XOXO

Team Snape, get ready. You've been waiting for this for a long time. Team Draco, don't despair. The story isn't over yet. Nobody assume _anything._ - QnQ

Song suggestion: "Shadowboxer", Fiona Apple, "Tidal" (1996).

"**The greater your capacity to love, the greater your capacity to feel…pain.****" – Jennifer Aniston**

**Chapter 15 - Deficit**

Draco lay on the cold floor of the formal dining room, holding on to the empty space where his wife had been and sobbing.

"Draco." Narcissa huddled on the floor and tugged at her son's shoulders. She didn't know why, but touching him made her feel a million times worse. A fresh sob rose in her throat. "Draco, stop."

Behind her, Lucius was standing like a statue, utter grief etched upon his features. "He's taken her somewhere to keep her safe, I'm sure," he mumbled through leaden lips.

Draco did not stop sobbing into the floor. He did not think he could _ever_ stop. He had offered Hermione protection, but really, what did that mean as long as his family had to invite the Dark Lord into the manor a few times a week? _Gods, I am an idiot - an absolute bloody idiot. And I did it again – I fucking _caved. _But I think he really meant to kill her – I didn't want to risk it! _

It didn't matter. None of it mattered. She was gone – with _him._

Just then, Snape Apparated directly into the formal dining room. He was far too angry to observe the proper etiquette of Apparating in the driveway and knocking on the door, and the wards were keyed to let him in and out, anyhow. Draco looked up to see his former Potions Master striding toward him with livid cheeks, wand out and eyes glittering dangerously.

"On. Your. Feet." Snape's words were icy needles ejected from clenched teeth. With great effort, Draco stood up, wiping his sleeve against his tear-stained cheeks. He let out a yelp of surprise when Snape fisted the front of his robes and slammed him up against the wall, wand pointed at his throat. "You _coward_. How could you do that to her?"

"I had to!" Draco hollered hoarsely. "I had no choice!"

"There is _always a choice_, you sniveling fool!"

"And what would you have had me do, Snape? Huh? Should I have let them _kill _her?"

"_You should have laid down _your_ lif_e," Snape hissed.

Draco could not ever remember a time when he had heard Severus Snape raise his voice. He realized now it was because he never needed to. He had a way of cutting right to the heart of things, as pitiless and precise as a striking snake. Snape released him and he slid bonelessly down the wall to slump on the floor.

* * *

When Snape Apparated back to his private quarters at Hogwarts, Hermione was asleep in a ball on his bed. Her back was to the room, one hand cradling her cheek. Her sleep did not look particularly restful; a deep frown creased her brow and she was whimpering a little. He sat next to her on the bed. He wanted to run the backs of his fingers down her cheek to wake her, but settled for placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Miss Granger."

She awoke with a flailing start at his touch, and he leapt off the bed and backed away in alarm. The charmed medallion against his breast began to burn in answer to her thudding heart. She peered at him through the frizzy thickets of hair hanging in her eyes, pressing a hand to her chest, and started to giggle. "Nice purse."

Snape glanced down with a jerk of surprise – he had forgotten her charmed Italian leather handbag in his hand. One of the house elves of Malfoy Manor had packed it full of Hermione's toiletries and clothing for him while he was "busy" with Draco, and had stuffed his canvas bag with provisions as well. "Your things," he explained, setting the purse down on the floor in a hurry.

"Thank you." She really needed to get up and go to the bathroom, but Snape was looming motionless and silent in front of her, apparently deep in thought. "Erm…if you'll just excuse me for a moment." She indicated the bathroom with a graceful wave of her hand. He turned with his usual grace and moved into the kitchenette, spelling the food to put itself away. He had to get out of her path, lest he be tempted to snare her into another kiss.

* * *

"How long will I have to stay here?" Hermione asked Snape a few minutes later, as they were sitting in front of the fire with cups of Earl Grey.

"A few days." He sipped carefully at his steaming beverage. "Clearly, Malfoy Manor won't be safe for the moment, but I cannot take you to my home in Spinner's End – Wormtail is there." An unconscious sneer crept over his face at the thought of the squat, watery-eyed rodent of a man. "Still, I don't want you to be alone any longer than you have to. I will contact the others and arrange a series of safe houses for you."

"So I'm a moving target," Hermione whispered. She tried very hard to picture staying with Blaise Zabini and failed.

Snape set his teacup down and turned partially in his seat to look her in the eye. "You'll be safe here until the Dark Lord knows you have left Malfoy Manor. I don't know for certain that he will come looking for you, but we must act as though he will – and he will likely look at Hogwarts. I do know that he will punish Draco as long as it gives him pleasure; if Draco disappears as well, he will come looking for _both _of you – and obviously, I cannot disappear either. In the meantime, continue to wear that medallion."

"I meant to ask you about this," she said, turning over the little pewter disc in her fingers. "Where did you get it from?"

"That," Snape evaded, "is quite a long story, and it's late." He stood to leave.

"Are you leaving again?" Hermione asked unnecessarily. She attempted to keep her face and voice neutral.

"I have to," he replied. "As I said, Wormtail is waiting." He sent his empty teacup floating back to the kitchenette with a wordless wave of his wand, in order to occupy himself so he didn't have to look at her for his next statement. "Make good use of this time alone. Consider what you want to say to Draco, perhaps? Les Débrouillards will need to meet within a few days – all of us."

He was gone before she could say another word.

* * *

Hermione sat up for hours after Snape left, staring into the fire with her tea gone cold in her lap. She had not thought to ask him for a timepiece, so she could not have said what time it was. She hated not knowing – it was very disorienting.

What _was_ she going to say to Draco? She really had no idea. She had been so caught up the vast changes in him that she had forgotten to pay attention to what had stayed the same – he was just as spineless in front of Voldemort as in front of a rampaging Hippogriff. She had desperately needed someone to protect her, to throw themselves between her and the Dark Lord, and Draco had merely sniveled and cowered. _He barely even protested,_ Hermione thought bitterly. _I was tricked into loving him without really knowing him. I _should_ know him by now, though. _

It wasn't the first time Draco had hurt her. There were too many incidents in their school days to count, and even after their wedding, there was Pansy's reception. She looked down at her engagement and wedding rings and frowned, recalling Draco's vow to her: "_to honour you, to protect you...and to share with you in all that is to come." He offered me protection so many times, but he never told me what he was going to protect me from. He can't even protect me from himself, for Merlin's sake!_

She took her rings off again and leaned forward to place them on the cocktail table, completely heedless of the teacup in her lap. Cold tea seeped into her thighs and she jumped up reflexively, letting the teacup smash on the stone floor.

"Balls," she grumbled sincerely. She was tired and irritable and didn't feel like cleaning up after herself, especially not without a wand, so she just grabbed the charmed purse and stomped off to the tiny bathroom. It was time for a shower and change of clothes – she hoped whoever packed her things remembered pajamas.

Once in the bathroom, she shed her tea-stained black robes, bra and knickers. She turned the taps on and waited for the water to warm in the shower while she quickly brushed through her curls, preparing them for a good shampooing. She removed the medallion without thinking about it – she always removed all her jewelry before showering – and stepped quickly under the steaming spray, pulling the curtain closed around the ancient claw-footed tub.

The warm water felt delicious, but Hermione was disinclined to linger. Her father always told her she had watched too many horror films, but she felt vulnerable in the shower unless she knew someone else was in the house. Therefore, she lathered her hair and body thoroughly but quickly before giving herself the once-over with the hand-held showerhead. (It was a surprisingly Muggle thing to find in the middle of Hogwarts, but Snape was full of surprises, wasn't he?) She thought she heard a noise as she gave her hair one last rinse, but she chalked it up to paranoia, chiding herself for her foolishness. _I'm alone and safe,_ she repeated to herself. It was her new mantra. _I'm alone and safe. _

She had already stepped out of the shower and was toweling off when Snape burst through the bathroom door, wand out, a look of wild panic in his eyes. He ignored her shriek of surprise, taking in the tiny woman wrapped in a towel and the medallion on the edge of the sink, and his expression instantly morphed from fear to anger. He plucked the necklace from its resting place and shook it at her, his voice becoming the strained, elevated monotone she remembered from the times she'd pissed him off in class. "_Why _aren't you wearing it?"

"Oh, my gods," Hermione gasped, realizing what she'd done. "Did it –"

"Alert me? Of _course _it alerted me! I thought your heart had stopped!"

"I'm so sorry!" she moaned. "I didn't think –"

"Obviously," he interrupted with a sneer. "You must wear this _at all times_. That includes in the shower." He closed the short distance between them and lifted the hand that wasn't holding her towel, pouring the pewter chain into a puddle in her palm. "Put it on. Now."

"I can't do it one-handed," she replied miserably, glancing down at her towel. _Of all people to burst in on me en dishabille… _ His eyes followed hers and he swallowed audibly, turned without a word and marched out of the bathroom door, slamming it smartly behind him.

Hermione dropped the towel, put on the medallion, and dug through her handbag for pajamas. Sure enough, a black satin shift and her black satin night robe were folded neatly at the bottom. _Dammit. The Malfoy elves would choose luxury over practicality. _She changed slowly, not looking forward to meeting the furious wizard on the other side of the door.

When she emerged, she found Snape had mended her teacup with a Reparo and cleaned up after her a little, placing her rings inside the cup for safekeeping. She figured another apology would be useless, so she started the conversation with the first question in her mind. "What excuse did you give Wormtail?"

A baleful glare met her words. "I told him I had received a message regarding the possible acquisition of Acromantula venom for a potion, and I had to leave immediately to collect it."

She snorted – a true Potions Master's excuse if ever there was one. "And what will he say when you come back without it?"

"Slughorn left a small supply," he replied. "I found it when we were here last. Not that Wormtail would know what a phial of Acromantula venom looks like. I could bring him a bottle of Flobberworm mucus and he wouldn't know the difference." He paused to shift a small patch of clothing on his chest uncomfortably. "I told him I had to go out of the country to get it – he's not expecting me back until tomorrow, late. I didn't know what I would find when I got here, so I bought myself as much time as possible. Gods, woman, do you have any idea how much you've put us all at risk by making me come back here?"

Hermione was all too aware, thanks, and not about to answer another one of his polemical questions. "What does it do to you?" she asked instead, gesturing at his chest to redirect the conversation to the little medallion hidden under his robes.

"When your heart rate goes up, it heats up. When your heart rate goes down, it gets cold." He grimaced faintly, rubbing at the spot under his clothing again, and scowled at her. "The medallion thought your heart had stopped. I think I've got bloody frostbite."

She took umbrage to his tone and channeled Ron Weasley for a moment. "Well, why don't you _heal_ it? Are you a wizard, or not?"

He dismissed her outburst with a grunt, turning to stare into the flames. "It's no less than I deserve."

That softened her. She watched his inscrutable profile in the firelight, but he said nothing else. "What do you mean?"

He flicked a sardonic eyebrow in her direction, as if to say, _you don't know?_

She tilted her head and considered him for a long moment. "I suppose a little frostbite is decent payback for that remark about my teeth in fourth year," she eventually remarked.

He turned to face her, looking directly into her eyes. "I already compensated you for that."

"How so?" she retorted. "I don't feel the slightest bit compensated for having my biggest insecurity about my appearance picked apart in front of everyone, thank you." She flushed at the memory. It had been one of the worst moments of her painfully awkward adolescence.

"I've told you how beautiful you are," he replied, his tone simultaneously silky and stony.

"That wasn't exactly comforting." She crossed her arms protectively over her chest and dropped her eyes from his face, retreating and sitting on the bed – well away from him.

"Why not?"

She had to admit, it was a damn good question.

"Women like to be flattered, don't they? You love hearing how pretty you look." Snape's voice was dangerously sultry as he came to sit next to her on the bed. Warning bells went off in her head, but she resolved to stay strong and not show her discomfort, snorting at his sexist remark instead.

"I like genuine compliments. Flattery is false praise given to manipulate another, nothing more." She pointed a victorious finger in his face. "And you, Severus Snape, just outed yourself as a flatterer."

"No," he said in a neutral tone, focusing on the short, oval fingernail waving in front of his eyes. "I have never flattered you."

Hermione gulped and looked at her feet. "Not this again," she muttered, her cheeks aflame. "I told you, we're done with this."

"Tell me why," he said. "Why are we done?" His voice was cajoling, tender, like caressing fingers on the back of her neck. He _had _to know the effect he could have with that voice, the bastard. She refused to look at him and stared resolutely at her toes, her fingers clenched in the soft grey blanket upon which they sat. He would not leave off staring at her, speaking softly in a honeyed tone that sent a frisson of excitement through her.

"I'm married, Snape!"

"Perhaps not," he murmured. "After all, I asked you if you gave yourselves without reservation, did I not?" She was finally provoked enough to meet his gaze, and instantly regretted it; his eyes were twin black holes, endless depths from which even light could not escape. They were sucking her in. "And you lied, didn't you?"

"Obviously," she sneered, perfectly mocking his withering tones. He ignored it, no longer interested in feisty wordplay.

"The questions in the marriage ceremony are not arbitrary; they are part of an intricately designed and incredibly intuitive magical ritual that requires the full consent of both parties. If either party is compelled to participate, or lies at any part in the ritual, the magical bond cannot take hold."

"But there was a golden light," she protested, sounding almost hysterical. "I saw it."

"It pulsed outward and disappeared," Snape responded immediately. "It is meant to pulse outward and _come back,_ to seal the magical bond between the couple. Hadn't you ever been to a magical wedding before?"

"No," she replied. "Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour were supposed to get married, and we were all going to be there, but then Harry…" she broke off, choking back a sob.

"Yes, I know." He inched subtly closer to her.

"Surely Draco must know, though, and his parents. They're married." She was babbling now.

"I'm not in a position to say what they do or do not know. I would imagine Lucius and Narcissa were actually married by the Dark Lord himself, back before his monstrous transformation, and I can tell you that Death Eaters do not generally use…traditional bonding methods." Thankfully, he left off his description there. Hermione gulped and looked down at her feet again. She suddenly understood Voldemort's remark about not being invited to the ceremony, as well as the nature of his persecution of her bond with Draco. "I _am_ in a position to say whether or not the spell took hold, given that I was the caster. It did not."

"Why didn't you say something?"

Snape did not answer verbally, choosing instead to lean in to capture her earlobe between his teeth for an instant.

"You were my teacher. You're twice my age," she gasped.

"Irrelevant. You're no longer a student, and you're more than of age. You're nineteen, plus you have nearly a year of Time-Turner use to account for. Your actual physical age is approximately twenty years."

"Semantics," she said, "and damn Dumbledore for telling you."

"Not semantics." His voice rumbled in her ear like a far-off thunderstorm. "Facts. And you still haven't given me a single good reason why I can't tell you how beautiful you are."

"I don't like how it makes me feel," she muttered, shivering as his lips touched her neck.

"I think you do, and that's what frightens you," he murmured, his lips never leaving her pulse point. "I can feel how your body responds to me. Your heart is racing. Your nipples are hard." She glanced down – he was right, damn him. "No matter how often you deny it…" he trailed off, daring to twine a hand in her hair, turning her face to his. His next words were whispered against her lips. "I know you want me too."

They kissed heatedly and hard; he nibbled at her lower lip and traced it with his tongue until she moaned and grabbed his face, holding it to hers and thrusting her tongue into his mouth. Suddenly she was on her back, and he was nipping and sucking down her neck to her collarbone. His hands opened her robe and slid inside it, seeking skin, only to meet solid satin that went all the way to her ankles. Undeterred, he reached up to thumb one of her nipples through the silky fabric, distracting her while he reached for the wand pinned awkwardly beneath him. In the blink of an eye he had magically divested her of her sleepwear, leaving her naked next to him on his bed.

He was rewarded with a sight even more pleasing than he had dared to dream of. Her breasts stood in ivory relief against the darkness of the room, each one tipped in rose. Her waist dipped in an enticing curve to the swell of her hips, and a well-trimmed thatch of brown curls rested at the apex of her slightly parted thighs. Her usual vanilla sugar scent was stronger after her shower, but mixed with the scent of her arousal as well. It was an intoxicating combination.

"My gods," he breathed, tracing a finger from her nipple to her navel. "You are perfect."

She flushed and dropped her eyes to his collar, where her fingers began working the row of tiny buttons on the frock coat he wore beneath his robes. "I still say you're a flatterer, Severus Snape," she whispered, trying to drown out the little voice in the back of her head that was wondering what she was doing, telling her that this was wrong, _awful_, to stop, that she should be fighting back…

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose. "Say it again."

"What, that you're a flatterer?"

"No," he murmured, lowering his mouth to one of her delicate breasts. "My name."

"S-Severus," she stuttered as his teeth closed on her nipple, painfully erect and alert under his ministrations. He groaned his approval and flicked his tongue against the pebble-like point, sending Hermione into a fit of goosebumpy shivers. Her reaction made him sit up and unbutton his jacket, throwing it carelessly onto the floor. He swiftly added his plain white shirt to the growing pile of discarded clothing, and Hermione got her first look at him shirtless. He was pale, of course, but surprisingly fit and warm, with just enough chest hair. The pewter medallion rested against his breastbone, cushioned neatly between his brown nipples. She could not resist running a hand over his chest, making him close his eyes and sigh, although she was careful to avoid the reddened patch of skin where the cold medallion had burned him.

Gods, her tiny, cool hands felt good against his flesh. She was getting bolder, stroking down his chest and around his waist to his back, pulling him close for another searing kiss. Her breasts pressing against his bare chest felt _magnificent_. He buried his hands in her hair as he explored her mouth with his tongue, enjoying the silky feel of the curls twisted in his fingers. One of her hands slipped down and hesitated in the small of his back for an instant before gliding gently over the curve of his arse and squeezing once, hard. He chuckled – an unexpectedly charming, musical sound – and ground his throbbing erection into her hip. She slid a hand between them and tentatively touched him through his trousers, making his cock jump and his breath catch in his throat. He pressed a hand over hers, holding her to him, and ground against her again encouragingly.

"Yesss, lover," he hissed. "Touch me."

Her hands fumbled with the button of his trousers and he moved to help her, pushing them down along with his underwear and socks and tossing them to the floor. He lay back next to Hermione, and when she sat up suddenly and got off the bed, he thought she was going to bolt; however, she merely tugged on his hands to bring him to a sitting position as well, then knelt before him and took the whole of his cock in her mouth.

"Hermione!" he gasped, taken completely aback. She dragged her lips up the length of him, pausing to swirl her tongue around his head before she temporarily removed her mouth.

"Severus." There was a faint note of amusement in her tone. Clearly, he had pushed her past some sort of breaking point, then – turned the key to unlock all that Gryffindor boldness. She wasted no time in applying her mouth to him again, using her lips and tongue at the same time in a manner that made his head loll back and his eyes close. A heartfelt groan escaped his lips.

"Ahh. Gods, witch, you have no idea how I've wanted you. I will make you scream my name before this night is over, I swear to…." His words were lost in another thoroughly un-Severus-like gasp. Had her mouth not been otherwise employed, she would have grinned wickedly. His hands were clenched in the blanket, then in her hair, sweeping it back so he could look into her eyes. She met his heated gaze across the planes of his body, and he shuddered at the incredibly erotic sight of his cock in her mouth.

"No, I have never….flattered you," he ground out, barely able to speak. "You don't even know how incredible you are, do you? How brilliant, how gorgeous – _ahhh_."

Hermione was absolutely enchanted – both by what he was saying, and the fact that he was saying _so much._ She had never heard that dangerous, velvety voice saying such lovely things, and he was saying them to _her_. He was such a surprise, in so many ways. _"Unexpectedly loquacious between the sheets" is probably the first of many things I'll discover about him,_ she thought.

The little voice in her mind screaming _"Are you mental?"_ was drowned out again by his hands stroking her hair. "Let me have the chance to pleasure you," he requested softly. "Please."

She released him and backed away as he got to his feet. He swept her into his arms effortlessly, cradling her against his chest briefly before settling her in a corner of the couch in front of the fire, where she would be warm and could sit up comfortably. He pushed the table away and knelt before her, his back to the flames. One curious finger probed between her folds, tracing from her opening to her aching clit, circling and plunging into her, then resuming its wandering path all around, driving her mad. A second finger joined the first and he massaged gently inside her, sucking her clitoris into his mouth and tickling it with his tongue. She smelled tangy and musky and tasted fresh and delicious to him. He glanced up to see her back arched and her mouth hanging open, both hands lazily playing with her nipples. She was gilded in firelight and flushed with exertion and arousal, and he had never seen her more beautiful. He licked slowly up her folds, causing her to cry out and grind against his face – not that he minded in the slightest.

"Severus." The sound of his name, rasped out in her angel's voice, made a groan of pleasure rise in his throat. "Please."

"Tell me, lover," he said, stroking inside her with one hand and rubbing her mound slowly and firmly with the other. "Let me hear you say it."

"I want you. I want you inside me _now_," she whispered. "_Please,_ Severus."

He chuckled again, lifting her from her spot on the couch and returning her to his bed. He turned back the covers and laid her on the cool white sheets, lowering himself over her on his elbows. She reached down and grabbed him, rubbing the head of his cock all over her, mixing their juices together. When she was ready, she tilted her hips up and they slid together neatly. A mutual sigh of satisfaction escaped them.

"Yes, lover." He bucked his hips, pressing ever deeper, eliciting a squeal of delight from Hermione. She answered his summons, rocking back against him, savoring every sensation that rose from their joining. _Oh, yes, lover. You're mine now,_ he thought, though he dared not speak such things aloud. Her hands dropped to his arse once more, holding him deep inside her while she swiveled her hips. Her nails dug painfully into his skin, but he relished the little half-moons of pain because_ she_ was making them. He dipped his head to her, capturing her lips in another passionate dance.

"Oh, gods, Severus, I'm going to…" she panted against his mouth as he pistoned in and out of her. "Ahhh!"

"Come to me," he entreated. "Come all over me, lover." He bit her tenderly on the throat. "Come!"

She came hard, accidentally screaming her peak directly into his ear. It was painfully loud, but he didn't mind. He thought he might lose himself when her warm, wet walls shuddered and squeezed him, but he managed to hold out. She was boneless beneath him for a few seconds, but they soon resumed their original pace. Within a minute, another orgasm rocked her, even stronger and more satisfying than the first.

"Severus!" Hermione cried, gripping his shoulders and pressing her face to his chest. She was infinitely wetter now, coating both of them in slickness.

"Didn't I promise you," he panted in her ear, "that I would make you scream my name before the night was out?"

"So good," she managed. He chuckled again, and Hermione wondered if a little dirty talk would have the same effect on him that it had on her. "You feel so good inside me. Fuck me harder, Severus." Sure enough, he closed his eyes in bliss. A low growl of pleasure escaped his throat. Apparently he liked her bad girl routine, then. "Ahhh. Gods, that feels _so fucking good_."

He rose up on his knees, resting her legs on his shoulders, and began pumping harder and faster while he stroked her clitoris in lazy circles with one thumb. "Is that good, lover?"

She responded with a throaty moan. More of her juices seeped between them and she began bucking against him, squirming and thrashing as he drove her over the edge once more. This time, he allowed himself to fall as well. They came together in crashing waves, their voices mingled like the cries of gulls in this safe harbour.

They lay together in a stupor afterward, staring into each other's eyes, kissing every now and again, but not talking. Severus was, after all, keeping a secret. He had wondered about it after his dreams, and suspected it after he kissed her, but now he knew for certain – he was in love with the witch he had coaxed into his bed. After awhile, he moved to cradle her head on his chest, arms wrapped around her, and tried as hard as he could to memorize the feeling.

The frightened-sounding whisper came just before dawn. "Severus, what have we done?"

"Hush. Sleep now, lover. There will be time enough for regret in the morning."


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Here's a big, meaty, nearly 8,000-word chapter for you. Team Draco: you begged for makeup sex. Here you have it. Leave your thanks in the reviews, if you please. ;) - QnQ

Song suggestions: "Criminal", Fiona Apple, _Tidal_ (1996); "Day & Then the Shade," Katatonia, _Night is the New Day_ (2009)

* * *

"**All my fears come into view/ There must be an end soon/ When every waking hour/ Is part of the lie…" - ****Day & Then the Shade," Katatonia, **_**Night is the New Day**_** (2009)**

"**There should be an honest attempt at the reconciliation of differences before resorting to combat."****  
–****Jimmy Carter**

**Chapter 16 – Meantime, Parabolas and Whirligigs **

Wednesday, Sep 23, 1998

After his encounter with Snape, Draco was too grief-stricken and shut down to walk. Narcissa and Lucius had had to scrape him off the dining room floor and carry him bodily to his bed. They hadn't known what else to do with him, so they simply pumped him full of Dreamless Sleep and let him rest. Neither really expected his condition to be much better when he woke, however.

It was now four in the afternoon; Draco's thick lashes rested on his ashen cheeks, and Narcissa sat watching him sleep, organizing her thoughts.

Firstly, she would continue tending to Draco in whatever helpful capacity she could. Secondly, she needed to find out where the hell Snape had taken her daughter-in-law, and exactly what he was planning. The taciturn potioneer had an irritating habit of working alone, even while Les Débrouillards were meant to be working together; it needed to stop immediately. In the quiet of her heart, Narcissa wondered if Draco had been correct about Snape's feelings toward Hermione, but dismissed the thought as unhelpful and irrelevant at the moment.

"How is he?" Lucius whispered, poking his head into the bedroom.

"The same," Narcissa sighed. "I think he'll be out for awhile."

Lucius extended a hand to his wife, indicating that she should come to his side. She floated over, graceful as always, and wound her fingers through his, allowing him to pull her along. He led her only as far as the sitting room outside the bedroom door, so they would be instantly accessible should Draco wake. It reminded Narcissa of the times he'd been ill as a small boy; she and her husband had passed many an evening just like this, waiting for their son to sweat out a fever or clear out a croupy cough.

"What a fine mess this all is," Lucius muttered, pulling Narcissa down next to him on the settle. "A fine mess, indeed."

"I wish Severus would Floo-call, send an owl, _something,_" she whined. "Honestly, doesn't he think we need to know what's going on?"

_He likely doesn't _want_ us to know,_ Lucius thought. He too had observed Snape's behavior around Hermione, and he was wondering the same things as Narcissa, but kept it to himself. Out loud, he said, "I'm sure he'll call soon." He put his arm around her and rubbed a soothing pattern up and down his wife's arm. "In the meantime, we need to help Draco."

"He needs his wife back."

"Yes, but _in the meantime_," Lucius repeated pointedly, "we need to help him realize that none of this is his fault."

"Don't you think Snape was right?" Narcissa's large hazel eyes held his quicksilver gaze, and he could see the deep sadness etched in them. "I mean, should Draco have offered himself up instead? Would the Dark Lord even –"

"No," he replied firmly. "No, the Dark Lord gets far too much satisfaction from torturing Draco for his lack of loyal service. It's just not that simple."

She aimed her wand at the fireplace, just for something to do with her hands. Flames sprang to life on the hearth. "It certainly was an untenable choice, wasn't it?"

"Quite." Lucius's voice would have been droll, had the subject matter not been so grave.

"What would you have done?"

The silence stretched out between them while he considered. "I don't know."

"The same as Draco?"

"Probably." He hesitated. "Are you angry?"

"No."

"Do you think Hermione is angry?"

She closed her eyes for a moment. "Yes."

He sighed. His daughter-in-law was not a woman to be trifled with, he knew; an angry Gryffindor wife was not the sort of problem one wanted to have. If Snape_ was_ meddling… "As I said, what a fine, fair mess all this is."

Narcissa leaned her head on his shoulder. "What are we going to do, Lucius?"

"Wait."

* * *

Mercifully, Hermione awoke before Severus. The tiny window high on the wall betrayed the afternoon, but there was little other light in the warm room. She extricated herself from his clutches slowly and quietly, so as not to wake him. Not looking back to observe his sleeping form, she picked up her discarded outer robe from the floor, pulling it on and knotting the belt about her waist as she moved to the kitchenette. Without her wand, she was going to have to make her "morning" cuppa by hand.

A few minutes later, cup in hand, she entered Severus's disused office. The bloody potion, she noted with chagrin, was still in a stasis field, which she could not remove without a wand. She couldn't begin work on it without him, then. _Goddamn it to hell,_ she thought.

Just how in Merlin's name could she brew this potion by herself while she was on the run? She could take his books, she supposed, but he designed the damn potion - she needed his guidance. "Bloody buggering balls," she whispered out loud. Was she never going to be permitted to get away from him?

She had not had to wait for morning for the sick wave of shame and regret to crash over her; here in his office, it came crashing back again. Even if every word Severus told her was true, it didn't make what they'd done okay. Gods, she hated herself. She sat down in the chair behind the desk, buried her face in her arms, and sobbed.

Severus had made her body respond to his touch, in spite of her misgivings. Even now, she flushed with sudden heat at the memory of his hands on her. There was something about his intensity that drew her in every time – and he had not hesitated to use her anger at Draco to his own advantage. In fact, he had systematically broken down her will, burned her resolve to ashes, and then reached out and caressed the most primal greed within her with a lover's touch. She could not argue that any of it had been against her will - she truly had wanted him. She had been unprepared for what _having_ him meant: namely, that his silver tongue and skillful sexuality would coax her dark side to the surface. All of her failings were suddenly abundantly clear to her. She catalogued them slowly: there was self-righteousness; a tendency to think in black-and-white and two dimensions; unrestrained physicality that got her deeply into trouble. That last point rankled more than usual.

She was angry with Draco, hurt and betrayed, so she'd gone out and done the very thing she knew would wound him above all others; she'd exacted the perfect revenge. It brought no satisfaction. The taste of hypocrisy mingled with the tears that rolled into the corners of her mouth.

She would tell him the truth this time. He deserved the truth. No more running; no more flushing memories down the loo. No matter how much of a bastard he was, he was still…well, if not her husband, then what? The word _soulmate_ drifted unbidden through her consciousness. Severus charmed her body and wrought utter havoc in her mind, but he couldn't really touch her soul. Draco, on the other hand, seemed to have taken a piece of her soul right out of her. As strange as their connection was, given their history, it had never _once_ felt wrong. He was like coming home.

That was it, then. She loved the cowardly git – she couldn't help but forgive him. She would also rather be tortured by Draco than killed by Bellatrix, given the choice. As her sobs quieted, she wondered whether he was going to forgive her – and what would become of her if he didn't.

* * *

Hermione wiped her tears on the sleeve of her robe as she pulled the door to Severus's office shut. He was going to have to leave soon, and she intended to send him by Malfoy Manor on his way home, with a note for Draco and instructions to retrieve her wand. She cared not for the consequences if she were captured with it_. If I get caught on the run, we're all dead anyhow,_ she thought. She was tired of waiting for someone else to protect her, to save her. She was going to brew that goddamn potion and pour it down Voldemort's throat herself, if it came to it. If his minions chased her, she would be ready. She would fight, and she would win, or die.

Severus was in the loo when she returned to the living quarters. The shower was running and humid heat billowed from the door, which he had left open in invitation. _Cheeky bastard_. She dressed quickly, unearthing her blue robes from her charmed handbag, along with a self-inking quill and a piece of parchment. Once she was dressed, she sat on the couch and used the coffee table to scribble her instructions.

_Midnight. The clearing in the woods. _

Severus chose that moment to come waltzing out of the loo dressed only in a towel wrapped around his lower half.

"Good afternoon," he said silkily. "Sleep well?"

"No." She looked down at her hands, where the folded piece of parchment sat waiting between her fingers.

"You've been crying."

She did not respond as he came to sit next to her. He made to pull her into his arms, but she pulled away. "Severus, stop. Please. This is wrong. I'm still…I'm married."

"No, you're not," he corrected, "but it doesn't matter. Pureblood unions often include the occasional extramarital liaison, you know. Polyamory is even practiced in some circles. There was nothing in your wedding vows about remaining faithful. Didn't you notice?"

"Even if that's true, it seems like the kind of thing you should have an agreement about, not just go ahead with," she retorted. "I did it to hurt him, and for no other reason - that's why it's wrong."

"No other reason?" His voice was quiet, his eyes impenetrable. "Do you truly feel nothing for me?"

Her honey-brown eyes pleaded with him. "Severus…"

"Do you love him?"

"Yes."

"You don't love me?"

Hermione exploded. "Oh, come off it! You don't love _me_, either! You just _used _me! You saw what you wanted and you manipulated me into giving it to you, that's _all!_ It was my mistake!"

"No, there's no mistake," he said. "I've fallen in love with you, Hermione." He dared not invade her physical space just now, but his glance up and down her body was a caress, nonetheless. His eyes came to rest on her face. "Surely you understand what that means."

She looked as though he had slapped her. Oh, she knew all too well what it meant. He was, after all, the sort of man who kept the portrait of an unrequited childhood love on his nightstand for more than fifteen years after her death. She visibly steeled herself anyway. "I don't care. Take me home," she managed through numb lips.

"No. It isn't safe."

"Then get my wand. You have to leave soon anyway – make a trip to Malfoy Manor and get my wand. I'm going to need it to take proper care of the potion. Oh, deliver this to Draco, too." She got up, threw the parchment square at him, and walked away. Snape caught it just as his Dark Mark started to burn.

"The Dark Lord summons me." His words stopped her in her tracks, but she did not turn to look at him. He rose and began dressing hastily. "I will be back with your wand this evening, as well as instructions for your trip to the next safe house." Within moments, he had Disapparated.

* * *

"Where is Draco this evening?"

"He is unwell, my Lord," Lucius replied, attempting to focus his mind on white nothingness behind the shields of Occlumency. "He will be with us again as soon as he recovers."

"A shame," Voldemort sneered. "Such a delicate boy, Lucius. I was hoping to have another lovely…chat…with Draco and his mudblood whore."

Lucius clamped down on his mental walls, keeping his face neutral, wisely saying nothing. He felt a none-too-gentle probing at his mind, but gave it no quarter.

Snape did the same.

* * *

Once the Dark Lord had gone again, Narcissa cornered Snape. "Where have you taken her, Severus?"

"She is in my old quarters at Hogwarts," he replied. "But she will be on the move again tonight. We shall all meet at the home of Theodore Nott on Friday evening, to discuss the next steps in the plan."

"I don't understand," Narcissa said.

"I cannot bring her back here, Narcissa. It is far too dangerous. The Dark Lord has no doubt sensed her absence from the manor. He didn't believe Lucius when he said Draco was ill."

"I know," she said. "So, she's on the run, then?"

"Essentially," he confirmed. "Narcissa, I need her wand. She might as well have it. If they catch her, it will make little difference for any of us if she has it or not."

"It's upstairs with Draco. I'll have one of the elves fetch it for you."

"Have it deliver this to him as well." He handed over Hermione's note, which she took without question.

Xxx

_Midnight. The clearing in the woods. _

Draco exhaled shakily. He read the unsigned note for the millionth time since the elf had delivered it several hours ago, calling to mind the place where they'd found the _stella nigra_. She would be waiting there for him at midnight. A glance at the clock told him that he had just about an hour to wait. _Wait for what,_ he wondered to himself. He didn't know what was coming, but a sense of foreboding boiled in his stomach. Would she hex his balls off? Scream and yell? Tell him she never wanted to see him again? He prayed to any deity that might be listening for her mercy.

The elf who brought the note and retrieved Hermione's wand had also left a tray with Draco's dinner on it, resting unobtrusively at the foot of the bed with a warming charm over it. It appeared to be roast turkey and seasonal vegetables, one of his favourite meals, but he had no appetite. He hadn't been able to bring himself to eat since she had gone, so he just sat wrapped in a blanket in their bed, staring at the note in his hands.

_Please, please let her forgive me._

* * *

"What time is it? Hermione snapped at Snape when he returned to Hogwarts.

"Ten-thirty," he replied.

"Give it here." She approached him with her hand outstretched, her meaning clear. He raised a silent eyebrow at her rudeness and handed over the willow wand. "Now, tell me where I have to go so I can get the hell out of here."

Severus handed over a piece of parchment with a Brighton address on it. Hermione recognized the trappings of a Secret Keeper; she read it over once, twice, committing it to memory, then threw it into the fire. _So I'm not the only one who trusted him, _she thought.

"You will spend the next two nights with Theodore Nott. We will meet at his home Friday evening to discuss your next steps."

"Fine." She stalked off to his office without another word, wand in hand. A black shadow followed in her wake.

"Hermione." He laid a hand on her arm when she reached for the door handle, his voice surprisingly gentle.

"Don't touch me," she barked. She shook his hand off and opened the door to the office. She was wearing her rings again, he saw. Once inside, she began preparing the cauldron to be moved again. She refused to acknowledge Severus's presence behind her.

* * *

Draco left the house half an hour before midnight. He could have Apparated to the clearing, but he decided to light his wand and walk instead. He was stiff and sore from spending too much time in bed, and the thought of seeing Hermione again filled him with anxious restlessness that he needed to expel before their encounter. As he picked a cautious path around fallen debris and puddles, he considered what to say to her. He didn't even know how or where to begin, and gave it up as fruitless after a few minutes. He supposed it would all depend on her.

He was at the clearing before he realized it. It was only a few days past the new moon; very little natural light filtered down to the rock from the faded crescent in the sky. Draco snuffed his wand and let his head drop back as he contemplated the vast universe visible above him.

His own irrelevance calmed him slightly. The stars and blackness of space between them would forever be oblivious to his presence. He was just a lonely man sitting on a rock in the woods – an infinitesimal speck on an obscure planet at the edge of an incomprehensibly large galaxy. No matter what happened tonight, the galaxy would continue to whirl through the void just the same, bearing all humankind along with it.

His heart picked up its pace when the sound of Apparition heralded Hermione's appearance. She landed in the middle of the clearing, carrying her new handbag in one hand and her wand in the other. She cast _Lumos_ and peered into the darkness. "Draco?"

"I'm here," he said in a low voice, lighting his wand again and stepping forward. His heart squeezed painfully at her appearance. She looked pale and slightly disheveled, and he could see fear etched upon her drawn features, along with grief and fatigue. "Hi."

"Hi."

They just stared at each other for a moment. Her wide-eyed look reminded him of a frightened deer again. Oh, gods, she really _was_ afraid of him. "I'm sorry," he said, maintaining the same low tone. The hand that wasn't holding his wand was held palm out in a placating gesture. "Gods, Hermione, I'm so sorry. Please don't be afraid of me."

"Draco, we…well, that is, I – erm, we, well..." she stammered. He took a tentative step forward, then another; she didn't bolt, which was good.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He could reach out and grab her now, but he extended his hand instead, palm up. She did not move.

"We have to talk," she said, "but I don't –I can't." Her voice broke on the last word. Tears streamed down her face. Draco felt his heart crack cleanly down the middle. He berated himself inwardly for causing her so much pain.

"Show me," he half-whispered, his hand still hovering in the air between them. "If you can't tell me, show me." He didn't finish the last part of his thought out loud: _I deserve it._

She hesitated for a moment, apparently weighing the merits of his suggestion. Slowly, she put her bag down and stuck her wand in its pocket. He suppressed his natural urge to kiss her when she grabbed his face with both hands, bringing their foreheads together. Unprepared for the onslaught her touch would bring, his knees almost buckled.

Agony. Remorse. Despair. Anger. Fear – he had been correct about the fear. He drew in a sharp breath, his pupils dilating and his face growing even paler than usual as he probed gently through their empathic link. It was horrible, but he sensed that she was holding back something much worse.

"Show me," he repeated, probing gently against the edge of her consciousness with his. Reluctantly, she filled his mind with her memories: her anger at him, the medallion, the conversation with Severus…

What came next made him push her away frantically. He turned on his heel to rush to the edge of the clearing and vomit over the side of his thinking rock. There was nothing but bile. He clung to his rock, resting his cheek against the cold, rough surface, sobbing and retching. He felt a tentative hand on his shoulder, increasing his pain one hundredfold.

"No," he choked. "Don't touch me. Don't touch me! I can't bear it!"

"Draco," she bawled. "Draco, please! I haven't shown you everything!"

"No!" He shoved her away. "Gods, there's _more?_ I don't want to see any more! I've seen enough!"

"Draco, please listen to me!" Hermione screamed.

"No!" He hollered back at her. "No! There's nothing more to be said, is there? Gods, you went out and made my worst fear a reality, and you knew it, too, you whore!"

She was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe, but Draco saw the Gryffindor steel within Hermione pull free of its scabbard. It glinted in her eyes. _Too far, Draco, too far._ He just had time for the thought before her Hurling Hex picked him up and slammed him against a tree on the other side of the clearing.

"Whore, am I?" She stormed across to where he lay bruised and panting. "Well, then I'm a perfect match for you now, you fucking coward! I'm finally down to your level, aren't I?"

He fired a Trip Jinx at her, sending her sprawling. She scrabbled to her feet, leaving long, muddy scrapes in the leafy muck of the forest floor. "You've been nothing but a coward your whole life, Malfoy," she taunted. They were circling each other in the centre of the clearing, drawn wands pointed like rapiers.

"Fuck you, you self-righteous bitch." Draco dabbed at his bloody lip with his sleeve. He'd bitten it rather badly when he hit the tree. "I'm loyal to my family! They're the only ones who give a shit about me! Dumbledore spent all his time protecting his precious Potter, and never mind the kid who had the Dark Lord killing people in his fucking dining room! I've walked a _fine_ line all these years, and I did it without any help, which is more than I can say for you."

"Did what? Acted like the arrogant, racist bastard you are? Treated everyone around you like shit, just because you could? Pussied out and ran to Daddy every time somebody challenged you? Because that's all _I_ remember. Some _accomplishments,_ Malfoy."

"I survived!" They were nose to nose now, but he did not lower his voice. "And if you were really as smart as you think you are, you'd know I've been _trying _to help you do the same!" His next words were barely coherent through his sobs. "I love you, and you ripped my heart out."

Hermione was crumbling. She grabbed Draco in spite of his protests, forcing his forehead back to hers, and flooded his mind once more with her memories. She held him still and showed him all of her thoughts in Snape's office, her agony over what she had done – and the choice she had made, then and there, to tell the truth. When it was over, he slowly opened his eyes and met her steady brown gaze.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. He heard it echo in her mind. _I'm sorry. _"I love you. I'm sorry." They were clutching each other by the face and weeping quietly. "I don't care about Voldemort. I don't care if we're not really married. I love you."

"But you - what you showed me…" He shuddered. "You enjoyed what he did to you. You wanted him. I felt it," he mumbled brokenly.

Shame flooded her gut. "Yes," she said, reminding herself (and him, via their link) that she had promised honesty. "But what I really wanted was revenge. I thought I'd feel vindicated, but I just feel like I'll never feel clean again."

Recognition struck like lightning in Draco's stomach. "That's how I felt after…" he trailed off, not wanting to voice his transgressions out loud. "After everything at Hogwarts," he finished lamely. "Broken. Felt like I couldn't ever be fixed."

"Exactly."

"So, I guess you were right. We're even now."

"It's a place to start," she agreed quietly.

"I think…" he chose his next words carefully. "I think you can fix me, but Hermione – I have to give you all my pieces. I can't hold anything back anymore, and if you don't like what you see, you're just going to have to forgive me for that. I'm not brave like you. If you break me again…" he licked his lips. "I'm going to stay broken, I know it."

"Okay," she breathed, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. "It's okay. I'm sorry. I love you."

"Promise me," he pressed.

"I promise," she whispered. They were both sniffling quietly now. Draco pulled her into an embrace, resting his cheek on the top of her head and rocking them both back and forth slightly, almost as though they were slow dancing. A thought occurred to him, and he pulled back, looking into her eyes.

"Speaking of promises," he said, "I think I might know why the wedding vows didn't take hold."

"Yes, I know. Because we lied," Hermione said.

"No, that's not what I mean. Don't you remember what Slughorn said in Potions sixth year about Amortentia? 'It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love.' I bet In order for the vows to work, the couple has to be in love."

"Well, we're in love now," she pointed out, taking his hand. "Why don't we just go get married again?"

"No," he replied. "Not yet. I want to – do things right this time." He managed a small smile. "When this is all over, I want to marry you properly. Have a big party and everything. I want everybody to know you're mine."

"You're as bad as your mother," she accused.

He shrugged. "What's bred in the bone, as they say." He lifted their hands to his lips, kissing the back of hers softly. It was getting very cold out; their fingers were icy, and they were both beginning to shiver. "But there's more to it than that. We have more things to get right than just the wedding."

"That's true," she agreed ruefully.

"For now, let me take you home. We'll see what we can do about getting you clean," he added meaningfully.

"I'm supposed to go to Theo's, but…" She conjured her Patronus, sending the silver otter streaking off toward Sussex. "There," she said, sounding satisfied. "He'll be expecting me in the morning."

"What memory did you use?" Draco asked quietly.

"Honestly?" She blushed. "Vanilla frosting." A dainty cough punctuated the sentence.

"I guess there is one thing we got right," he amended with a wry grin.

* * *

They Apparated back to their quarters. The sitting room embraced them both in a bubble of warmth. Hermione sighed with relief, setting her bag down on the table and lifting the jade cauldron out of it. She placed the portable flame dish in the centre of the table and lit it, then conjured a large hook from the ceiling and hung the cauldron from it. She removed the stasis charm with a wave of her wand. Last came the bundle of fluxweed, hanging neatly in the steam that began to rise from the cauldron. Draco watched all this without speaking.

"I'll have to start work on it again in the morning, before I go to Theo's," she said. He came up behind her, resting his hands tentatively on her shoulders and feeling out their empathic link. Relief. She felt bruised underneath, but the overarching theme of her emotions was great relief. He also sensed she was developing a headache.

"Not now," he said, digging his thumbs between her shoulder blades. "Relax." She moaned and sagged at the knees. He made her sit back on the settle and moved to stand behind her. She let her head loll forward as he continued his massage.

"Ooh." His searching fingers found a particularly knotted spot under her right shoulder blade, the muscle trembling with tension from holding her wand aloft. "There?"

"Mm hmm." She nodded and sighed. "Don't stop." He obeyed, smoothing the flesh into quiescence. From there, his fingers stroked firmly up to her neck, kneading and caressing away the throbbing that had begun at the base of her skull. His mind was surprisingly blank; he was attempting to pass it on to her as well through their connection. She could feel it.

"Resist me a little," he said, using his thumb on one side of her neck and his fingers on the other. He rested a hand in the centre of her chest to indicate that she should lean back against him. She was rewarded with increased pressure in just the place that made her go rubbery and limp. She keened with delight, both at the helpful massage and at the warmth that his palm left spreading over her heart.

Draco could feel her racing mind slow down, even as the heart under his hand began to speed up. He sensed a pulse of warmth, a remembrance of pleasure, and the hand he had so carefully placed on her chest began itching to go lower. At that moment, he remembered that they were both streaked from head to toe in mud, and he was daubed with blood to boot. "Come to the bathroom with me."

"Pardon?" she turned to face him with an amused, quizzical look.

"The bathtub, cheeky." He rolled his eyes. "Sorry, but I don't think you'll catch a Malfoy peeing with the door open in this lifetime."

Hermione giggled helplessly, leaning back into him. She realized that they were both giddy, but she didn't care. It felt good. "That's fine."

"Bath," he grunted, leaning away. "I probably smell."

"You always smell good to me," she muttered, blushing. "It's actually a sign that we're genetically well-matched to produce offspring, did you know? Muggle scientists did these studies and-"

"Bath," he interrupted pointedly.

"Right."

* * *

Once they were in the bathroom, Draco set the bathtub to fill with hot, scented water while Hermione Summoned her bag from the sitting room and set to brushing her hair out. It was quite a task – there was a growing pile of twigs, leaf fragments, and the odd chunk of mud on the countertop. By the time she was finished, the tub was full, and he'd already undressed and slipped into the water.

She felt suddenly shy at the thought of undressing in front of him. She cursed herself for being illogical, but her cheeks flamed as she shucked off her robes and toed off her shoes and socks, standing before him in her plain black bra and knickers. His eyes watched her hungrily, but narrowed when the light glinted on the pewter chain around her neck.

"Take that bloody medallion off," he growled. "You don't need _his _protection. Not anymore." She complied immediately, dropping it carelessly on top of the pile of her clothing on the floor. She hoped that somewhere, Severus Snape was suffering a frostbitten nipple. "Aren't you going to come in?"

Hermione reached behind her and unhooked her bra. She caught it as it fell from her shoulders, holding it in front of her chest and ducking her head, cheeks blazing.

"Hey." Draco's voice had lost its rough edge. "Why so bashful?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "Wait, yes I do. Feeling dirty."

"Fresh start," he reminded her. "Let tonight be the first time – for everything."

She bit her lip and nodded, letting the bra fall from her arms to the floor. It was warm in the room, but his steady silver stare raised gooseflesh across her chest and down her arms, making her nipples stand at attention.

Draco's breath caught in his throat when she slid her knickers down past her knees and kicked them semi-gracefully aside. She was so tiny and beautiful – the personification of beauty, really, at least to him. A goddess.

"Come here." He beckoned to her from his watery sanctuary. "I want to worship you."

She looked startled. "What?"

"Come here," he repeated. She climbed into the tub and sat next to him, closing her eyes briefly in bliss at the touch of the steaming water. He had added a little essential oil of jasmine to the bath – the rich, evocative floral scent wafted its way into her mind, easing her nervous tension bit by bit. He slid over to meet her, reaching for the shampoo bottle and pouring a generous dollop of the vanilla-scented product into his hand. She looked about to speak, so he leaned in and kissed her lips lightly, mindful of his bruised and bloodied mouth. "Don't," he said, laying his fingers over her lips. "Just listen. Please. Wet your hair," he instructed, and she did so. When she popped back up, he pulled her to him, her back against his chest, and began lathering her hair. "This is to make up for all the times I made fun of your hair," he whispered. "I'm sorry." She moaned a little as his fingers massaged her scalp. After a few long moments, he murmured in her ear. "You can rinse now."

Once her hair was rinsed, Draco lathered her soap between his palms and began massaging them slowly over her chest and breasts, rolling and pinching the nipples a little and kneading the flesh gently. He lathered carefully up her throat as well. "This is for all the times I called you a mudblood or implied that you were dirty or filthy," he whispered in her ear. "I'm sorry." She tilted her chin and arched back against him to give him better access. A little sigh ghosted from her lips. His hands slid over her shoulders to her back, soaping her as far down as the water would allow. When he ran out of suds, he cupped water in his hands and dribbled it tenderly over her soapy flesh until it gleamed wet and clean.

They finished their bath quickly and in silence after that. Draco got out first, Summoning three fluffy towels. He wrapped one around his waist and held the other out in front of him in invitation, arms wide. Hermione stepped from the bath into his embrace. He wrapped her warmly, using a corner of the third towel to dry her freshly-washed face. "This is for all the times I made you cry," he murmured, patting tenderly. "I'm sorry."

He wrapped her hair in the last towel, squeezing the excess water out. He left her to finish the more rigorous towel-drying while he grabbed her hairbrush. When she had finished, he swept her into his arms and carried her into their bedroom, sitting her on the edge of the bed. He sat on the bed beside her and turned her shoulders away from him, then began drawing the hairbrush through from scalp to roots, over and over again. For awhile, the silence between them was filled with the susurrus of the brush. Hermione did as he asked, and just listened to the calming whisper of the bristles through her strands. Since his contact with her skin was minimal, their empathic connection was muted, limited to odd flashes.

Draco brushed her hair until it gleamed. After a time, he laid the brush down on the bedside table and turned her shoulders back to him, taking her hand. He raised it to his mouth and kissed her open palm first, followed by the pad of each finger. He repeated the process on her other hand before speaking. "This is for all of the extra work I ever caused you, both in Potions class and as a prefect." His lips moved to the inside of her wrist, followed by a swirl of the tongue and a slight nip of his teeth, which made her gasp. The empathic connection flared. "I am sorry."

He shocked her by kneeling at her feet, taking each one in his hands in turn and kissing the top tenderly. "This is for all the running you've had to do because of me and mine. I am sorry."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. A few tears leaked out of the corner of one eye in spite of her.

"Climb into bed," he said, wiping her tears away with one warm thumb. His hand on her face soothed her. "I'll be right back."

When he returned from the loo, his lip was healed. "Do you need anything?" he asked. She shook her head. He crawled under the sheets on his side of the bed and they rolled to face one another. Draco lifted a hand and stroked a still-damp strand of hair off Hermione's cheek, tucking it behind her ear. His finger lingered on her neck, tracing a line from just under her earlobe to her collarbone. She closed her eyes at his touch, humming in pleasure. His finger continued its downward path, stopping to trace lightly around her nipple. One finger gave way to his whole hand, cupping her right breast gently and lifting it to his mouth. He traced the areola with his tongue before sweeping the nipple into his mouth, sucking almost hard enough to bring pain. One of her hands came down and tangled in his platinum hair, pressing his face to her. She rolled so she was on her back and he was leaning over her, both breasts now accessible to him. He turned his attention to her left side, working the flesh into a passionate hum in the same method he had applied on her right. His mind was still beautifully blank; the white nothingness of his thoughts made Hermione feel as though she were floating.

He moved from her breasts up to her neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses and nibbles on her throat. A shuddering gasp escaped her when his tongue dipped into her ear. "This is for all the times I said something nasty about you in your hearing," he muttered. He nipped at the magic spot just beneath her earlobe and was rewarded with a lusty groan and an involuntary thrust of her hips. "I'm sorry." One of his hands snaked down over the planes of her body and rubbed a questing finger through her damp slit, drawing some of the welling moisture from her opening up to lubricate her folds. He continued his attentions to her neck at the same time, drawing an animal grunt of lust from her throat. He moved slowly – so slowly it made her ache – until he was resting between her thighs, his face a few inches from her sex. He spread her folds gently with two fingers, sucking out her clitoris and dipping his tongue inside her. She cried out and thrust against his face. He growled in approval, the vibrations echoing lustily through her damp and throbbing core.

"Please." The single word, choked out, was all the encouragement he needed. He dove into her, searching as far upward as he could with his tongue, tasting her essence on his tongue. Her musky-sweet scent filled his nostrils.

"Mmm," he rumbled, replacing his tongue with two fingers. "You taste so good." He caressed her inner walls while he suckled at her clitoris. She moaned incoherently, clutching at the pillow under her head. She was now rolling her hips against him in earnest. He held her down firmly and laved her slit from opening to clit with a broad, flat tongue. Since Hermione could no longer move her hips, her voice took up the expression of her lust instead. Her cries echoed in his ears while her fingers twined painfully in his hair.

"Draco," she panted. The sound of his voice in that husky, sex-addled tone made his cock twitch. He pulled off the towel around his waist and settled himself into position between her legs. He teased her for a while – she lifted her hips to indicate he should enter, so he stretched her opening slightly with the head of his cock, but withdrew before he had slipped more than a few centimeters inside her. They repeated this little dance a few times before she grunted with impatience and grabbed his cock firmly and held it still at her entrance. She met his eyes, telegraphing her message to him through their bond: _I want you._

"This is for all the times I wanted to touch you and never could," he said. "I love you." He slid slowly inside her, savoring every moment, until he was buried to the hilt. She wrapped her legs around his middle and he cradled her, their bodies undulating as one. "I love you," he repeated dreamily. They ground together rapturously, slow and sensual, each giving and receiving love in equal measure.

The outside world dissolved into nothingness: there was only the delicious slide of their bodies along one another and their mutual sounds of desire and satisfaction. Draco stroked her face gently as they rocked together in the lamp-lit room. Her eyes were dark reflecting pools – he could see his own quicksilver eyes in them. Her thoughts and feelings were quickly becoming his; the exquisite pleasure pulsing through their link belonged to both of them. Individuality, time, space – all of these things ceased to hold any meaning for either of them.

Without warning, Draco lifted Hermione so she was sitting face-to-face with him, her legs still wrapped around his midsection. She sighed when he reached up and captured her lips in a tender kiss. They stayed like that for some time, rocking and kissing and loving each other. It was more like a full-body hug than making love, but it felt right to both of them. Hermione closed her eyes and thought of healing. "I love you," she whispered fiercely in his ear. He responded by leaning back and lying flat on the bed so she was astride him, and his hands roamed freely over her satiny skin.

"Show me," he breathed. One thumb caressed her clitoris lightly while the other rubbed over her nipple. She began writhing atop him, rolling her hips with her hands braced on her thighs for balance. Draco groaned long and loud with pleasure. She was also using her internal muscles to squeeze and release him rhythmically, which was driving him closer and closer to orgasm with each passing second. _Gods bless books about sex,_ came the scattered thought. She sensed it and chuckled. He began to rub her clitoris a little harder, taking special care to use the speed and pressure he knew she liked. Sure enough, her breathing became erratic and her movements more jerky. She was grinding hard into him now, taking him as deep as he would go. A guttural cry ripped from her throat as she came, shaking with electric pleasure at the throbbing satisfaction deep in her core. He felt her warm, wet walls convulse around him and a flood of her juices drenched his balls.

It was his undoing. He came long and hard and loud, crying out his peak to the heavens as he spurted inside her. The sound and sight of him – head thrown back in wild abandon, his face clenched in what looked like exquisite, delicious pain – drove her over the edge once more. When it was over, Hermione collapsed to one side, gasping for breath. She crawled up toward her pillow and collapsed again, blowing a stream of air through her bangs to lift them out of her eyes. Draco likewise crawled to his side of the bed, turning out the lamp and gathering her into his arms.

"I missed you," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. A gentle snore was her only response. He chuckled softly - he was exhausted too. With his cheek resting against her satiny hair, Draco drifted into a truly restful sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Thank you all very much for your lovely reviews of Chapter 16. I do try to turn out quality stuff – glad to know my efforts are appreciated.

Onward with the next chapter, in which we begin to get to know one very Notty boy. (I'm punny, aren't I? Okay, stopping now.) He'll feature quite prominently in the next few chapters. If you couldn't tell, things are taking an upswing to the lighter side – at least for the time being. Theo does that to me. Be forewarned: this chapter contains gratuitous alcohol use.

Song Suggestions: "You Haven't Had Enough", Marianas Trench, _Ever After_ (2011); "Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want", Slow Moving Millie, _Renditions _(2011).

**NEW FIC ALERT** Coming soon – the post-Hogwarts adventures of one Luna Lovegood…add me to an Author Alert be notified as soon as Chapter 1 goes up!

* * *

**Chapter 17 – Unspoken**

"Where is she?" Snape was pacing back and forth in front of Theodore Nott's kitchen window, watching the empty street and muttering murderously to himself under his breath. "Where the bloody hell _is _she?"

Theo sat at the table with a glass of Firewhiskey, swirling the contents of the tumbler idly while he watched his ex-Potions Master wear a rut in the linoleum. It had been an interesting few days, to be sure. First Snape's owl had arrived, letting Theo know Hermione was coming to stay. Then Snape himself had shown up unannounced – in the middle of the night, no less – and demanded to see her. His reaction upon finding her inexplicably absent, Theo mused, was _very_ interesting, indeed.

As Snape paced, a silver otter streaked gracefully into the kitchen and announced in Hermione's voice, "Theo, change of plans – I won't arrive until after breakfast," before dissolving into nothing.

Snape promptly went so far out of his mind, he reached orbit_. _He spluttered and scowled, casting about as though he were searching for an object to throw – or someone to punch. Failing that, he gripped the kitchen counter so hard his knuckles turned white, glaring out the window and vibrating with restrained energy. "By all the gods and Merlin and Salazar Slytherin, I am going to _murder_ that infuriating, arrogant, stupid…" he trailed off and banged his fists once on the counter, growling in frustration. The copper pots and pans lining the walls rattled.

Theo had never seen Snape so angry. "Calm _down,_ man," he said laconically, watching the older man with an amused expression. "I fear for my kitchen."

Snape whirled to face him. "Shut up, Nott," he snapped, his black eyes blazing.

Theo threw his hands skyward in exasperation and rolled his eyes. "Don't hex me, I'm not even the messenger," he riposted. "Hermione can take care of herself, I'm sure she's fine."

"You don't know how wrong you are," Snape returned acidly.

_I think maybe _you're_ the one who is wrong,_ Theo thought, burying his nose in his glass. He didn't know her well by any stretch, but the Hermione he remembered from school was self-assured and capable, even in the face of ridicule and uncertainty. He was sure some of it was the usual Gryffindor bravado – everybody had a soft, white underbelly, after all – but he also knew for a fact she'd been in mortal danger countless times and made it through relatively unscathed. "Throwing a fit isn't going to make her arrive before tomorrow morning," he eventually remarked. "She'll get here when she gets here. And she _will_ get here, Snape," he added gently. "I've no doubt of it."

Snape opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His eyes went wide and he clutched at his chest, his expression indescribable. Theo jumped up. "Are you all right?" he asked worriedly, mentally running through the emergency treatment protocol for heart attack victims. Suddenly, much to Theo's surprise, Snape seemed to calm himself down. The elder man's features reassembled themselves into their usual forbidding mask, and he came to sit next to Theo at the table.

"I'm fine," he muttered, slumping slightly. He sounded utterly defeated. "I know where she is. She's safe."

Theo sank back into his seat, completely unnerved. He wasn't sure how an apparent myocardial infarction translated into Hermione being okay, but he was glad of the revelation. "I told you so. Listen, you're welcome to spend the night if you want to wait for her."

"Thank you, no." Snape rose to leave. "I've got to get back to Wormtail," he explained with a sneer. "I'll see you tomorrow night at seven." With that, he was gone in a swirl of black robes.

Theo sat alone with his Firewhiskey for some time before he went back to bed, ruminating and drinking. He was especially good at reading body language; part of his skill came from the natural Slytherin tendency to be a student of human interaction, but the rest – well, that was practical experience, self-taught for reasons that he kept private from nearly everyone. Snape's body language that evening had been particularly telling. It revealed that he _couldn't_ acknowledge how strong Hermione was – it cost him something far too dear to admit that she was fine on her own.

Theo rose from the table and drained the dregs from his glass, pausing to deposit it into the sink before retiring to his room for the night. As he crawled under the covers in his bed, he remembered the look on Snape's face. _I should have recognized it,_ he thought. _I know what loneliness looks like._

* * *

Hermione woke up to the sound of music coming from the sitting room. Smiling, she rose from the sheets and went, still naked, to find its source.

Draco was sitting in a wing chair in front of the fireplace, playing his guitar in the nude. He shook his sleep-tousled hair out of his eyes and grinned at his lover. "Good morning."

"What an arousing reveille," she commented, waggling her eyebrows at him suggestively. He laughed and continued picking his tune, nodding his head at the steaming cauldron hanging above the table. His fringe fell back in his eyes again, giving him a rakish yet soulful appearance. _Oh, so this is why they say not to fall in love with musicians,_ Hermione thought. _Hot damn._

"Working music," he suggested. She smiled in agreement, stepping over to the low table and taking a seat on the settle in front of it. She moved confidently in front of him despite being nude. It was a sign, Draco thought, that they were becoming quite intimate in the truest sense - not just sexually, but personally. _Perhaps peeing with the door open isn't so far off,_ he mused.

"Oh – I need my bag. I'll be right back." She turned and walked to the bedroom, pausing when Draco called out to her.

"Hate to see you go, Granger, but I _love _to watch you leave."

She quirked an eyebrow at him over her shoulder - he was leering at her over his guitar. A devilish grin crept across her features. Gryffindor temerity kicking in to the full, she smacked her ass lightly for his benefit and sauntered into the bedroom, not looking back to see the incredulous stare that followed her.

When she returned to the room with her leather bag in hand, he had changed the tune he was strumming to something soft and sultry. It sounded familiar to Hermione – she found herself humming along lightly as she readied her materials. Draco glanced up at her in surprise. "You lied to me," he said softly, pausing in his playing.

Hermione's hand froze halfway to her bag. "Excuse me?"

"You said you were rubbish at music. Clearly, you can at least carry a tune."

"I sing in the shower sometimes," she admitted grudgingly, continuing with her work. "That's it, though." She dropped the whole moonstone into the potion, which turned a light peach colour and fizzed, looking sugary and innocuous. "So far, so good," Hermione breathed with relief. She stirred it eight times clockwise, then eight times counterclockwise before setting the rod aside. Next came the bundle of fluxweed – she crumbled the herb in her fingers, dropping it in an even layer over the surface of the potion, which took on an acid green colour and gave off an odor rather like bitter almonds. She picked up the glass rod again and resumed her symmetrical stirring pattern. "Now it needs to simmer for a few hours," she said, laying the stirring rod aside. "After that, I'm going to put it into stasis and take it to Theo's with me."

Draco hammered his guitar's strings lightly with his fingertips, causing harmonics to ghost tunefully from the instrument. "I'm going to miss you," he complained.

"You'll see me tomorrow night," Hermione consoled. He put the guitar aside and came to wrap his arms around her. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply, savoring her complex scent – vanilla (and at the moment, bitter almonds) and that ineffable feminine musk that was just _her_. She hummed with pleasure as the full force of his longing hit her through their empathic bond.

"Love you," he grunted, squeezing her gently. They were both still naked, and he couldn't stop himself from getting hard. The feel of her smooth skin on his was just too arousing. Her hand drifted down to stroke his growing erection. Draco growled and thrust approvingly into her palm. "Did you say you had a few hours?" he whispered in her ear.

"Yes," she purred.

"Excellent."

* * *

Severus did not spend Thursday morning in bed, in spite of a headache and a pressing drive for solitude. He didn't like the quiet, because all he could hear was her angel's voice in his head. The dark didn't help either, because his closed eyelids were a screen for the projections of his mind: ivory skin in the firelight; his hands, buried in curling, silken hair; her sweet, elfin face, with fury and ecstasy juxtaposed. He thought of the pewter medallion sitting on his bedside table with a pang – clearly, she had gone back to Draco and taken the medallion off. It had remained cold as ice since its temperature dropped suddenly the previous evening, so he had not put it back on.

He lay in the dark and considered whether to go back to Theo's to wait for her. Theo was taking Thursday and Friday off work to spend time with his houseguest, so they wouldn't have any privacy for their discussion; however, it was sure to be a disaster, and at least Theo would be around to pick up the pieces afterward.

* * *

"I have something for you." Draco dropped a kiss on Hermione's naked, sweaty shoulder. They were curled up in bed, savoring the last few moments of post-coital bliss before she had to leave. He reached into the drawer in his bedside table and pulled out two small leather-backed diaries – one forest green, one burgundy.

"Guess which one is yours," he said ironically.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I've been told these are terrible gifts."

"Open it." He held out the burgundy book to her, scrabbling in the messy drawer for a self-inking quill with his other hand.

A quick flip through showed her it was labeled with calendar dates only, not days of the week, so it could be used for any year. "I always keep a diary and a quill in the nightstand, in case songwriting ideas pop into my head in the middle of the night," Draco explained. He found a quill and used it to scribble a short sentence on the first blank page in his notebook, not letting her see what he had written. A moment later, the words _Draco loves Hermione _appeared in green ink on the page before her. "Now we can talk to each other anytime."

Hermione looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Doesn't it remind you a little of Tom Riddle's diary?"

"It's just the Protean Charm, Hermione, not a Horcrux. No dark magic, I promise." He smirked. "I'm using my powers for good now, remember?"

She snorted derisively, but her expression softened. "I suppose so. It really is genius."

"_I _thought so." He grinned and ducked the playful swat she aimed at the back of his head. "I just…I was going crazy not having you to talk to. Sometimes, I talked to you even though you weren't there," he admitted sheepishly. Their eyes met.

"Why, Draco. You're an incurable romantic," Hermione said. "I suppose that means you won't mind that I stole one of your shirts for sleeping in," she added slyly.

"Without even so much as a by-your-leave," he sighed. "Typical Gryffindor."

* * *

It was approximately eight o'clock in the morning when Theo was roused by incessant pounding on his front door. Jamming his wand into the pocket of his robe, he shuffled into the front hall and yanked the door open.

"Is she here yet?" Snape demanded, stepping inside without waiting to be invited.

"Merlin's beard, Snape," Theo groaned. "Couldn't let an exhausted Healer's apprentice enjoy a rare lie-in, could we now? And no, she's not here yet." He stifled a yawn. "Tea?"

"What in Slytherin's name could be keeping her?" Snape demanded of the air. He sat stiffly at the kitchen table.

Theo rolled his eyes and waved his wand at the cupboard, charming the tea to fix itself. He grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl on the counter and peeled it methodically. Leaning against the counter, he popped a piece of the soft fruit into his mouth, regarding the snarling man sitting at his kitchen table with a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes. "So, are you going to tell me what's going on, or am I going to have to get Hermione drunk?" he asked around his mouthful.

"Swallow your food before you speak, you cretin. What are you on about?"

Theo raised his eyebrows and swallowed. "You're acting awfully strange, even for a greasy old wanker like you. That's what I'm on about."

"I don't know what you mean," Snape sneered.

Theo chuckled darkly. "If you say so." He waited, but Snape didn't take the bait. "Fine. What do you say, Firewhiskey? Or should I pull out the Muggle poison for her? Jägermeister, perhaps?"

Snape scowled blackly at him and said nothing.

* * *

A few hours later, Theo and Snape sat embroiled in a particularly brutal game of Wizard's Chess, passing the time until Hermione arrived. Rooks and pawns lay in smoking heaps on the kitchen table, and Theo was hunched over the board with his dark curls peeping out between his fingers, thinking hard about his next move. Her tentative knock on the door startled him.

"Hello, Theo," she said shyly when he opened the door. "Thanks for letting me invade your privacy."

"Not at all," he replied with a grin. "Glad you made it in one piece."

Hermione smiled uncertainly at him as he led her to the kitchen. He seemed nice enough, but she didn't really know what to expect from Theodore Nott. She couldn't recall hearing him speak more than a sentence or two at Hogwarts. Of course, he'd been rather drunk at her birthday. She didn't have a long time to ponder it, though – much to her dismay, Snape was waiting expectantly for her, standing with his arms crossed in front of the kitchen sink with a face like gathering thunderheads. _That,_ Theo reflected, was the face he remembered from the Potions lab.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione demanded acidly.

Theo decided that _now_ would be an excellent time to get the hell out of there – although, given his Slytherin nature, he was _definitely_ going to listen in on this encounter. "I'll just leave you two alone, shall I?" he murmured. Snape and Hermione were too busy glaring at each other to notice him slipping away to the living room. He waited just around the corner, pressing himself against the wall and straining his ears.

"You took it off again." It wasn't a question.

_Took what off?_ Theo wondered.

"You can stop stalking me, Severus," Hermione growled, purposely keeping her voice down. She crossed her arms protectively over her chest, unconsciously mirroring her adversary's posture. "It's not going to make me change my mind."

"You flatter yourself," he hissed. "This is about making sure you are safe. You are critical to the success of our mission."

"I don't need your protection," she sniffed haughtily.

"Oh, no?" Snape glowered menacingly at his former student, his voice dripping sarcasm. "Care to remind me how many times I've saved your arse in the past thirty days or so? I'm afraid I've lost count."

She barked a derisive laugh. "You had your own reasons, I think we both know." He advanced on her, but she stood her ground, glaring defiantly up at him from under her tumbled curls. "I don't intend to make that mistake ever again. Let's just brew this potion so we can have done with this entire business, and Draco and I can get on with our lives!"

"Until you tell him the truth." Snape glanced toward the living room, as if sensing Theo's presence, and cast _Muffliato _over the doorway.

_Damn it,_ Theo thought. He cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, adding a Notice-Me-Not Charm for good measure. Slowly and carefully, he tiptoed into the kitchen again.

"…knows," Hermione was saying. She hung her jade cauldron from a hook she conjured over the kitchen counter. "I told him everything."

Snape actually looked surprised at this. "Took you back, did he?"

_Took her back?_ Theo wondered. _What the hell? Last I heard it should be the other way 'round…_

She lifted her chin. "Draco loves me."

"And you love him." The words were cold, mocking. "Yes, I believe you showed me how much you love him just the other night…"

"Fuck you."

"Too late."

_WHAT?_ Theo exclaimed inside his head. Hermione closed the distance between them and slapped Snape resoundingly across the face.

"_Finite Incantatem!"_ Theo cried, popping into their view suddenly. He wedged himself between them, putting himself nose-to-nose with a glowering Snape. "That's enough! I don't know what's going on here, but Snape, I think you had better go. Hermione will be perfectly safe for the next two days." Snape opened his mouth to protest, but Theo fixed him with a steady blue glare until he closed it again. He shoved past without speaking and stormed from the house, slamming the front door behind him.

"So." Theo turned to the thoroughly rattled witch behind him, and said very calmly, "Tea or Firewhiskey?"

"Beg pardon?" Hermione looked baffled.

"You're going to explain this to me now," he said pleasantly. "Would you like tea, or would you like to get drunk?"

* * *

"S'not fair, Theo," Hermione slurred. "S'only, like, evelen…evlen…_eleven _in the morning. An' _you_ – yer bigger than me." She rested her curly head on the table for a moment. "Ohhhh….my…_gods_."

"You're a cheap drunk," he said easily, downing his fourth shot of Firewhiskey as though it were mere water. They were sitting at the kitchen table, reminiscing about their Hogwarts professors to break the ice. Hermione found the cadaverous, curly-haired man to be quite funny and very welcoming – a socially-minded Slytherin along the lines of Narcissa Malfoy. He also had a fondness for drink and a talent for convincing her match him, shot for shot, although he took it relatively easy on her. Making her sick wasn't his goal. "You've only had three shots."

"In fifteen minutes," she complained.

"More like an hour. Are you ready to tell me what's going on yet?"

"No."

"I'm a Healer's apprentice. Anything you tell me is confidential. Healer-patient privilege and what have you."

"Ya drink an awful lot for a Healer," she said, hiccupping.

"Yes," Theo replied neutrally. "I imagine I'll grow out of it eventually."

"Awright, fine." She sat up and glared at him, defiant though bleary-eyed. "I slept wi' Snape a few days ago."

Theo tried not to let his incredulity show on his face. He nodded. "Go on," he encouraged, calling up everything he remembered from his psych ward rotation at St. Mungo's and slipping into therapist mode.

"It jus' – it jus' happened," she said, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "I was so angry wi' Draco, and he's been telling me how much he wants me, and – " She hiccupped again. "I dunno."

"He's been telling you how much he wants you?" Theo repeated. _That's bloody inappropriate, if you ask me. _"How do you feel about that?"

Hermione thought about it for a moment. "Confused," she admitted warily. She explained about their encounter in the lab in the dungeons, the medallion of St. Jude, the revelation about her marriage ceremony, and how Snape had used manipulated her. Theo had to listen very carefully to understand her drink-thickened words.

"Are you sure Severus manipulated you into something you didn't really want to do? Is it possible that in your vulnerable state, you did something you've wanted to do, but would never normally consider?"

"No," she said firmly. "Yes. I dunno. Maybe." Hiccup. "Wait, what wuzza question?"

"Is there any part of you that wanted Snape?" Theo rephrased. "Be honest."

"He manip'lated me," she slurred pathetically.

"Perhaps." Theo's blue eyes were sharp as he surveyed her. "But you didn't answer the question."

She dithered.

"Uh-huh." Theo poured another shot and pushed it toward her. "That's what I thought."

Hermione threw her head back and poured the drink down her throat, slamming the shot glass on the table afterward with an explosive gasp for breath. "Eurgh. That's vile."

"I'm still waiting."

"Yes, okay? I wanted him. I did."

"Do you still?"

"No, absolutely not." She traced one finger in a small puddle of spilled Firewhiskey. "It was…he…" She broke off, blushing. "It was good, but it doesn't touch what Draco and I have."

"And Draco knows what happened."

She nodded. "I told him. We had it out."

"How are things now?"

"Better," she said, much to Theo's relief. He rather liked Draco and Hermione together – he thought they were well-matched. "He loves me. He forgives me."

"Do you forgive him for what he did to you?"

"Oh, yes." Hermione brought her whiskey-soaked finger to her mouth, making a face at the harsh taste. "Severus thinks he should've lain down 'is life, but I'd rather be tortured at Draco's hands than killed by Bellatrix – or live withou' 'im."

_Gods,_ he thought, chuckling inwardly. _I think I really overdid it - she sounds like Hagrid_. "You've been through a lot, and you haven't even had time to properly mourn the friends you've lost."

"There'll be time fer that when I've busted m'other friends out of Azkaban," Hermione mumbled drunkenly.

"Hermione, look at me." Theo's voice was gentle, but firm. "It isn't wise to put off grieving. I know it seems like a waste of time you don't have right now, but if you don't deal with all of this, it is going to paralyze you at some random moment – and there's never a good time for that." He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and staring into her soul with those uncanny blue eyes.

"It's already starting," she mumbled, dropping her gaze to the table again.

"What was that?" he said, perhaps a little too sharply.

"I'm supposed to be this brave girl that can think her way out of anything," she said, her voice quavering. "It's like I'm expected to save the world all by myself! I'm not ever allowed to be scared, or fuck up, or even _relax _once in a while." She looked at his face again, her brown eyes swimming with tears. "All I do is run, 'n' fight, 'n' watch people die, and I'm just so…tired." A sob rattled her tiny frame. "Everybody wants a piece of me, 'n' I'm just so tired, Theo!" She buried her face in her hands, tears leaking out between her fingers, and wailed. "I'm tired, 'n' sad, and I donwanna _do_ this anymore!"

Theo frowned sympathetically. After a few seconds, he picked up the sobbing, very drunk witch and transferred her to the couch in the living room. He sat next to her, gathering her into his arms, and let her cry it out with her face buried in his favourite jumper. He rocked her back and forth a little, muttering the only thing he liked to hear when _he_ cried – "I know, honey. I know."

Hermione cried and cried. She felt as though she cried for hours. He conjured tissues for her, one after the other, and just rocked her back and forth, waiting for the floodgates to close. Eventually, her sobs became sniffles, and her sniffles became shaky breaths. Theo pulled back and looked searchingly into her face. "I'm so drunk," she said unsteadily, making him laugh.

"Do you want to sleep a bit? I can show you your room. It's just at the end of the hall." She nodded gratefully, so he got up from the couch and beckoned for her to follow. He showed her to a room painted in a pale blue-green, reminiscent of a robin's egg. The soft-looking bedcovers on the double bed were ivory, and the furniture was of a whitewashed pine construction that made Hermione think of driftwood. It was incredibly inviting and peaceful – and the last thing she expected to find in the home of a Pureblood wizard. This looked like something out of a Muggle decorating magazine.

Theo smiled at her. "Get some sleep, Hermione. You need it. I'll be reading in the living room if you need me."

"Thank you," she said in a small voice. She laughed shakily. "Erm…I got bogies on your jumper."

"It's seen worse," he said, glancing down with a smile. "When you wake up, I'll tell you the story about the time Draco puked on me."


End file.
